


There is Another Sky

by Apocalyptic_tea



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderswap, Professor!Sherlock, Student!Watson, University AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apocalyptic_tea/pseuds/Apocalyptic_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes had run out of chances. His career as a consulting detective abruptly and painfully ended, he found his last leg at a small university, taking up a position as a professor in the science department. Just as he began to settle, enter third year student Joanna Watson.<br/>What begins as a purely academic relationship blossoms into something more before either can stop it, but neither are without their scars. They both stand to lose everything if they continue to take risks and flirt with danger. The choice would be a lot easier if they didn't relish a little risk. The question is whether those risks would be worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A partnership is born

Sherlock Holmes sat back in his leather office chair, staring at one contrite Joanna H. Watson with a mix of dismay and curiosity. She held promise in his chemistry class, certainly not as stupid as the rest of the sheep, yet he was holding in his hands a failed test of her’s, and not the first one. At the beginning she had proven herself to be a hard working, solid high marked student, getting a higher mark on the first exam than any student ever had in his class. Yet now there she was, failing. He was sorely disappointed. 

"Can you please explain to me, Ms Watson, why one of my most promising students is failing my class? If it is due to committing yourself to other classes, I will tell you right now that it must stop. I assure you that my class is the most important class that you need to pay attention to this semester, so I really don't see why you have suddenly went from my top student to the bottom twenty percent. Please, enlighten me," he said in a clipped tone then waited impatiently for her excuse.

Joanna had known this was going to be a bad day from the moment she'd forced herself to roll out of bed, blatantly skipping her gaze over her roommate's side of the room (and the boy that was sleeping in her bed). She'd expected the test to be a total disaster, but she'd still had some small amount of hope that maybe, somehow, she'd at least managed to scrape in a solid 40. That hope had been quickly dashed when Professor Holmes hadn't even bothered to hand her back her test, merely commenting to her 'Stay after class' in such a frustrated tone Joanna had wanted to slide off her seat and disappear. 

Now she was sitting in front of his desk wishing for the same thing again. She hated disappointing people, and Professor Holmes was by far one of the most brilliant teachers the university had. More than once Jo had wondered to herself what he was doing there when he could be teaching easily at Cambridge or Oxford, and he thought she was promising. Until she'd started slipping. The feeling was a bitter one.

Joanna sighed, glancing down at her lap for a moment before she looked back up at him. She had trouble, in those first few weeks of class, actually staring at him or she tended to daydream. Beyond being brilliant, he was utterly attractive, and had a low baritone voice that could make a girl blush if only everything he said wasn't painfully antisocial. Well, Joanna didn't think he was that bad, but everyone else did. In truth, she was one of the few people who honestly enjoyed his lessons, having had to cover her hand over her mouth more than once to stop herself from giggling when he made some subtle, sarcastic quip at another student's expense. Which brought her back to feeling awful for making him look at her like that.

"It's not that I can't keep up with my work," she explained finally, looking uncomfortable. "If I... well, I'm the sort of student who needs quiet to study. I get..." She paused, not wanting to say annoyed because that sounded like she was rude, "distracted by other people easily. My roommate is a bit of a partier... and a dater... and if you've ever been to the library you'll know no one could even hear themselves think in there. When the weather was still warm I could go outside and study somewhere quiet, but now that it's cold, I'm sort of stuck. I've been trying to adjust, but, you know." She waved vaguely at the test he was holding and shrugged. "I'm sorry. I love your class and I really want to do well. It's just been a bit of a struggle lately, but I'll try harder. It won't happen again, I promise."

Sherlock stared over her shoulder at the bland white walls with their depressing blue bordering, hidden in an valiant effort by many, many bookshelves. He tapped her useless test against his lips in thought. Usually after he was given the sniveling excuse, when he cared enough to reprimand a student for failing, he would just dismiss them and try not to hope too hard for the best. But Joanna was different. She was bright and paid attention not to mention he knew how she was obviously amused by him. Which was different. Usually his students hated or feared him. She respected him in a different way entirely. It was refreshing. So to have her fail his class was more disappointing than usual and he found himself for the first time, actually caring if she succeeded or not. He may reflect on that later. 

"No, it won't happen again," he said slowly, coming to a decision. He snapped from his half slump and smacked her test on the top of his desk. "You say you need quiet, then we will conduct an experiment of sorts. You will study here on your free time, when I am in. You know my office hours and since I discourage students in bothering me greatly, you should be able to study uninterrupted. After I clear my desk," he looked down at the mess of paperwork with disdain, "There will be more than enough room for your work, so no excuses. I will even allow music, though at my choosing. We can start tomorrow. I know you do not have class during my first office hours, so I will be expecting you here," he said in a manner that brokered no argument from her. "Unless, of course, you actually wish to fail, which would be counter intuitive to getting into Med School. But your choice, Watson."

Joanna blinked, looking at him with honest surprise. That was... unexpectedly helpful. "No complaints here," she responded with a small, almost disbelieving smile. On the first day of class he had told them, 'Note in the syllabus my required office hours. Do not bother me before, during, or after these hours,' and based on what previous students had told her, she believed he meant it. So the fact that he was allowing her to come by (hell, practically demanding it) to give her a space to study was actually pretty fantastic. If she didn't feel like she shouldn't tell anyone, she'd almost like to brag for probably being the only student Professor Holmes had ever favoured, even a bit. But of course, she would keep that to herself.

She didn't ask how he knew her schedule, already knew better by that point, and just stood up with a bigger smile. "Thank you, Professor. Thank you so much, this is really generous of you. I'll be here tomorrow then." She moved to leave, giving him a little wave over her shoulder as she did so. 

That had turned out better than Sherlock had expected. The professor had prepared to argue with her against a debate over morals, as Joanna did seem the sort to balk over stupid things like 'appearances,' and worrying about what people might think. Instead she had left smiling and thanking him and promising to show up in the morning. He had even smiled in return, reflectively, but he rarely smiled at all. So that was definitely one for the books. 

\---

True to her word, Joanna did show up next morning, ready to study though possibly nervous. Sherlock knew his reputation well so he didn't blame her for being slightly suspicious. It didn't bother him. He waved to the seat and the newly cleared space on his desk. From his laptop classical, well played classical music softly streamed, filling the air with a calm atmosphere. He found it best to concentrate to the sounds of Bach and the likes and Joanna really had no choice.

"I will be grading exams for another class today but feel free to interrupt me from the tedium if you have any questions," he said with a dismissive wave before returning his attention to his paperwork. He kept one eye on her though, noting her clothing, her mannerisms, perhaps more interested than he should be. But there was no denying that she intrigued him, he just hadn't figured out why exactly or what to do about it. 

Joanna had, for once, actually gotten up early enough to shower in the morning so she looked presentable before 10am, finding herself looking forward to studying of all things. She suspected this had less to do with the content and more to do with the company, but she didn't allow herself to think about that too hard. And she really did have a lot of work to catch up on. She considered saying something cheeky to Professor Holmes when he spoke, something like 'Good morning to you too' but in the end, decided against it. He was offering to help her, after all, she wasn't about to accidentally make him angry.

"Thanks Professor," is what she said instead, cheerfully as she took a seat and pulled out her books. She'd never really been one to seek out the sort of classical music humming from his laptop, but she liked it well enough and it seemed like good sounds to concentrate to. She tucked a lock of chin length hair behind her ear, starting with Professor Holmes' work since that was what she needed to spend the most time on. She tried to keep her papers and things jammed into as little space as possible on the desk, feeling like it was the polite thing to do. Most professors gave you a look if you so much as rested an elbow on their desks, so she felt like she needed to respect his space as much as she could.

For about twenty minutes the two worked in silence, Joanna oddly enough not finding it quite as awkward as she had expected it to be. Her head eventually found itself totally bent over the book as she read, highlighting and jotting down neat, well-organized notes. Occasionally she'd open a reference book to check the meaning of a word or something, preferring to do as much as she could on her own before she asked for help. However, the more she worked, the more acutely aware she was of the fact that she was sitting in Professor Holmes' office, alone, with the invitation to talk to him. She'd never been one for silly teacher-crushes, and she still wasn't, but there was no doubt he was an interesting man and she almost felt like she was wasting an opportunity. Unless she annoyed him to the point that he revoked said invitation, and then she'd be out a study space as well. Choices, choices.

Eventually she settled on a question that she deemed as safe. "Who is this?" she asked him suddenly, pointing her pencil at his laptop slightly. "I don't listen to classical much, but I feel like maybe I should start. It's helpful." All true, and she genuinely wanted to know, which was why she deemed the question as safe and not some stupid 'making conversation' ice breaker or anything.

Sherlock looked up from his paperwork with a slim brow arched in amusement. He didn't mind the break, the students in his 230 class was an insipid lot and no one had yet to get high marks on the exam, and it was about something that he was passionate about, even if it was to fill in her regretful ignorance. 

"Students these days," he muttered. "Too busy abusing computers and ears alike in attempts at creating a beat and all the while forgetting what real music is." He paused, frowning at a disturbing thought. He had just sounded like Mycroft. Oh that was very unfortunate and made him feel horribly old. He wasn't that old, he thought. Maybe barely ten years older than Joanna. That didn't actually make him feel better. Best distract himself from his own vanity. 

"It's Bach," he said to actually answer her question. "Honestly, do you not recognise this? It is Chaconne, which has been heralded as his masterpiece, and for obvious reasons. You have the duality of an aching sorrow in the first half then a rising triumph in D-minor, which many believe was Bach's idea of life and death. I honestly don't know or care for his motivations, it doesn't make the masterful piece any easier to play. Trust me, I know."  
He nodded at the bookshelf left to his desk where his violin case laid. He would often play during office hours to drown out the tedium of his colleagues or to help him concentrate. Of all his possessions, admittedly, the violin was his prize.

Joanna listened to him with honest interest, not expecting him to be quite so versed in the world of music. She didn't mind the disapproval, a lot of professors said things like that. And to be honest, Joanna didn't listen to much of any music that often, not just classical. "I didn't know you played," she responded when she looked at his violin, sounding slightly impressed, then frowned a little at her own words. Of course she didn't know, why the hell would she? It wasn't like he talked about himself in class ever. 

The concept of the song supposedly signifying life and death was an interesting one, and it made her listen to it a bit more closely. Professor Holmes obviously didn't care about the meaning so much as the mechanics, but she did. She thought it made it more meaningful, beyond just pretty sound. 

"Must be nice, to be able to turn your thoughts into something beautiful like that," she noted with a small smile, resting her elbow on her book so she was leaning forward slightly as she looked at the professor. Joanna could kick a ball around, but that was hardly a talent. And she didn't even do that anymore. "You don't hear about many science professors being a side-virtuoso," she noted, studying the man with interest. There was always that stereotype about those interesting, eccentric professor types at universities, but you never actually met any of them. Joanna wouldn't say that Professor Holmes fit a stereotype, though. He was just... intriguing. 

Sherlock scoffed, now thoroughly distracted from his work but music was much more important than writing a bunch of 30’s and scathing remarks on a stack of papers. "I am not a one trick pony," he said arrogantly with a toss of his dark curls.

"I was classically trained as a child, you can say that my mother was very traditional. I play a number of instruments but I have a particular fondness for the violin." He stopped just before he could say something foolish, like offering to educate Joanna in the fine art of music.

He focused instead on Joanna, his sharp eyes taking in little clues of her life that he hadn't had the chance to notice before. Oh he had pretty much deduced her entire life history from one look the first time he saw her, but now he could get a closer look. 

"Like yourself, for instance. There is more to you than your strive to be a doctor and cable knit jumpers." He planted his elbows on the desk and leaned closer over the space of wood and books between them. "For one there is your athletic career to consider, ended I am assuming by you having injured your shoulder. Which also ended the self defense classes that you had taught in your first year here. But what I find the most intriguing for a future doctor is the gun callouses on your hands. Not very typical for a healer."

Joanna blinked, staring at him for a moment. She'd seen him do something like that before, apparently knowing whatever he wanted to know about a person, but she had no idea how and had never had the courage to ask. Until now, when it was her that gaze was turned on. "How do you do that?" she asked him, no small amount of awe in her tone. He hadn't asked her about anything specifically, every sentence was declarative (and correct), so she saw no need to clarify any of it. She doubted he'd want to hear such a dull story anyway.

"The first day of class you told a boy to leave because you knew he was planning on going to Japan to be with his boyfriend before the month was out anyway. And another time you asked a girl why she bothered to show when she didn't have her essay and she hadn't even sat down at her desk yet. And now you know about a shoulder injury I haven't told anyone about and that I used to shoot. How?" None of it was said with malice, or even disbelief. She'd seen all those things he'd done, and more that she didn't list, which perhaps suggested she paid too much attention sometimes but she didn't care and somehow, she doubted he did either.

Sherlock sat back in his chair, rather smug. He loved it when people asked him to prove his deductions and there was no glasses of water at hand for Joanna to fling in his face. He was also intrigued by how observant Joanna was, reciting instances of his deductions very clearly. There were many implications to that, of which he may give further thought later. Right then, he had been given the opportunity to show off and he was going to take it. 

"It's rather simple, really. I observe, and by observing, I notice things that go unnoticed. Your shoulder injury is elementary, really. You hold your handbag over your right shoulder exclusively and you favor your left, injured arm when you move or write. Once you were knocked against a wall and you deliberately turned your body so that you impacted with the right side of your body to prevent further injury. Also a testament to your reflexes and physical abilities."

He leaned up as to get a better look at her legs, hidden as they were by the desk. She sometimes wore such loose fitting clothing, but it was his luck that today she chose fashionable jeans that were comfortably snug on her. "I have also observed the way you carry yourself and the fit of your body. Your muscular calves attest to athleticism, as are your well formed thighs. The way you walk and carry yourself speaks of self defense but you instinctively command a room in study groups, telling me that you are used to leading, thus an instructor, obviously for money. Now, for the shooting. I already mentioned the callouses on your hands," he said, leaning forward to grab her wrist and flip her hand palm up. "Look. Here." He pointed to the rough patches on her left hand, the tip of his index finger smoothing over the textured flesh. "Obviously from holding a pistol with regularity. They are waning, so you haven't shot in a while, but just from looking at them I can judge that you shot with a .40 cal hand gun, likely a Glock if I'm correct. I can also say with certainty that you were quite good at it. Crack shot, I would say."

He finally looked up, expecting a reaction be it good or bad. Belatedly though, he realized that he was holding her wrist still, his thumb resting over a callous on the thick meat of her palm beneath her fingers. It did not escape him how inappropriate that might be but it was easily ignored in comparison to the unexpected electric energy that suddenly crackled between them when their eyes met over the desk.

Joanna had been expecting something clever, of course she had. But to hear it laid out like that, the way he spoke as if it were nothing. It was... "Amazing," Joanna breathed, her dumbfounded look morphing into a grin. "That's completely, totally amazing. I..." She licked the seam of her mouth slightly as she tried to find the right words, and her gaze flickered from his eyes that apparently saw everything and every meaning behind it, to their hands, hers still in his light grip with his thumb resting on her palm. She'd never noticed before, but he had beautiful fingers. And then there was him, who had noticed everything, including a detailed examination of her legs that perhaps should have made her slightly uncomfortable, but didn't. She wondered if he noticed that much about his other students, or if maybe he just paid attention to her. She found herself hoping for the latter.

It was that thought that made her gently pull her hand away, sitting it in her lap because really, it was one thing to admire a professor and another thing altogether to wish for his attention like that. And stupid, because he was obviously the most amazing, brilliant, interesting person she'd ever met and he probably had women, older and more sophisticated, throwing themselves at him all the time and... oh, right, and he was her bloody professor.

"What on earth are you doing teaching here, Professor Holmes? You should be at Cambridge, or Oxford or something. You must hate it here," she mentioned, more in an effort to get her thoughts back on an appropriate track. The university was good, but it wasn't that good. 

Sherlock was oddly glad when Joanna pulled away, suddenly filled with self consciousness as he was. He pulled away as well, covering his emotions with a light cough into the palm of his hand. She had called him amazing, a reaction he had not expected and had found himself fighting a blush. He was completely bowled over by the declaration, unsure if he found it easier to deal with than a glass of water or wine to the face or not. It made his skin prickle warmly and his palms slightly sweaty. He tried not to think too greatly what that meant. 

Luckily she gave him the perfect out, a distraction. He smiled weakly, settling himself more comfortably in his chair while busying his hands by stacking his papers. "You would think, wouldn't you? But in all honesty, I loathe the more esteemed universities. They are all filled with such pompous airheads, always thrusting their chests out and boring me to death with their philosophy. There is no personality there. Too many rules, much too stiff. I prefer it here where the students are far more honest and interesting. Not all spoilt brats here solely because of daddy forcing them to build a reputation. Students much like yourself, Miss Watson."

He smiled again then returned his gaze to his paperwork. His eyes happened to catch the time on his computer and he realized that his fifty minute office hour was almost up. He had a meeting soon, regrettably. Though a little space from Joanna might actually do him some good. He had much to think about and needed to clear his head. 

"Though as much as I would like to lament on my profession, I'm afraid I need to prepare for a meeting. You can still return in two hours if you like. Feel free to leave your coursework if you can afford to." 

Joanna looked confused for a moment until she too realized the time, her eyes going wide. Hell, she'd barely gotten anything done at all and she had class in twenty minutes. "Yeah, I can leave it. Thank you," she said automatically, a little flustered as she gathered up her things. She made a promise to herself to actually study when she got back, instead of chattering away like a little girl with a crush. She stood and smiled at him, shrugging her bag onto her shoulder as she turned to leave.

She paused at the door however, turning around to look at him. "Um, this isn't a big deal or anything..." she started, appearing slightly embarrassed. "But um, you can call me Joanna. I mean, a lot of people call me Watson, which is fine, but... usually it's people I don't really like." She gave him a sheepish smile, then disappeared out the door before he could reply so he didn't see the way she was blushing. She told people all the time not to call her by her last name, but never had she been so embarrassed about it before. 

Sherlock watched Joanna leave, his head tilted slightly to the side in contemplation. He could feel that things were heading down dangerous territories, something he knew he should nip in the bud immediately. Joanna was a fine student, she need not be anything more than that to him. He sighed to himself with a shake of his head then focused on his upcoming meeting. There were other reasons beyond what he had told Joanna as to why he was teaching there and he needed to focus. He dared not think of the consequences should he screw up and lose his job. His last chance, really.


	2. Not a Date

For the most part Sherlock had achieved his goal in keeping his relationship with Joanna professional. He called her Joanna as requested, but he kept himself in check otherwise. He made sure to not touch her again and to keep conversation on topic instead of straying like he had. She needed to study and he needed to focus on his job, as tedious as he found it at times. But there was still an easy camaraderie between them that he couldn't ignore. Outside of class and office hours they would still gravitate towards each other, often allowing themselves to slip into meaningless conversations like his deductions on professors or other such things that made her giggle and him flush. 

He knew what this was, this attraction. It was undeniable. What to do with it though, he did not know. He was loathe to end their working relationship, especially after the exam three weeks after his proposal to give her a quiet place to study. So he pointedly tried not to think about it at all. Even so, the day he brought the results in, he changed things up just to get a reaction out of her. Instead of handing the tests back in the beginning of class, he waited until the very end to have the students come up to the desk in the classroom to receive their tests. When Joanna came up however, he had no test for her. 

"Meet me in my office after class," he said in a clipped, professional tone. "We need to discuss your test results in private." It was cruel, what he was doing, but he felt it was best to hand her the test away from the other students. He knew how she didn't like to be emotional in public. 

Joanna had felt so nervous that morning she'd skipped breakfast (though not tea), choosing instead to get to class early. Regardless, he hadn't passed out the tests at the beginning of class, and Joanna had to pull all her willpower into paying attention to the lesson and not analyzing every glance he gave her, checking for disappointment or acceptance or anything at all. And then finally, _finally_ he handed them back... except hers. Joanna thought she might sink into the center of the earth she was so mortified. "Alright," she agreed to his appointment with a small, false smile, moving away from the desk so the rest of the students behind her could get their exams.

She'd _promised_ him she'd do better, that all she needed was a quiet space and yet she'd failed _again_. The walk to his office was a walk of shame, because this time she didn't even have an excuse. She'd been so much more confident this time, too. She'd been sure she did well. Though it was true she feared failing his class and what it meant for her future and getting into Med school, a part of her was just upset she'd disappointed him again. She had no idea what he'd want to talk to her about, though. A fail was a fail, and she wasn't stupid enough to think he'd do something like offer her a makeup. Probably this was to tell her not to come to his office anymore because it obviously wasn't helping. A great way to round out the month, really.

It was obvious to Sherlock that Joanna had thought she had failed when she entered his office so dejectedly. He almost felt bad for his ruse, but he was comforted by the fact that he had good news. 

He waved her to her usual chair and closed the door after her. He then pulled her test from his bag and turned around to hand it to her, opting to stand beside her chair instead of sitting down himself. He was far too restless to sit. 

"I apologise for the deception, Joanna, but I have a reputation to uphold and it wouldn't do well for me to smile in the middle of class, now would it?" With that he finally let himself smile, grin in fact, because she had given him honors marks from the last exam, an amazing jump from a disappointing 38. "Good job, Joanna. Though you made a couple of obvious mistakes, the extra credit made up for it. I am proud of you."

Joanna's eyes went wide when he handed her the test, and perhaps the only thing that could have been better was the smile he showed her after. And then he said he was proud of her and before she could stop it her face was flooded with colour and she was grinning right back. 

"Thank you!" she cried, and really the only thing that stopped her from outright hugging the man was a sense of self-preservation. "Jeez, you scared me to death! I thought you were going to tell me to never darken your doorway again," she laughed, a relieved sound that conveyed how much stress she had put herself under. She ran her fingers through her hair, eyeing the test and making note of the mistakes she had made. 

"Thank you," she said again, less excited and more sincere. "You've been... very helpful, and I appreciate it a lot." Helpful wasn't exactly the right word, but it was the best she could do. 'Wonderful' might make him a tad uncomfortable, after all. 

Chuckling, Sherlock waved off Joanna's gratitude. "I didn't really do anything," he said. He wasn't being modest, he saw no point in modestly. It was simply the truth. She had done the work herself. All he had done was offer his office and made every office hour a little more pleasant. 

"But if you insist on giving me any credit, then you will allow me to celebrate with you, and you most certainly must celebrate your achieve. There is a local restaurant owner that owes me a favor. Let me treat you to the finest ravioli you have ever tasted. Tonight, at seven. It will be entirely on the house so you don't have to worry." It being Friday, he knew Joanna didn't have anything pressing, so she had no excuse to deny him. Except for obvious reasons, like how his proposal wasn't entirely appropriate. 

The blonde looked at him with mild surprise. There was a difference between being favorited as a student and... well, being invited to dinner for doing well on an exam. And it really, really didn't help with the whole 'trying not to fancy my teacher' thing. Honestly, she should probably try to make some excuse as to why she couldn't before she ended up hurting herself.

"That sounds great," was what she heard herself saying instead, unable to stop it. She liked spending time with him; she couldn't help that. And she supposed it was silly to tell herself she didn't. It wasn't like it could possibly be anything other than a one-sided, silly crush anyway, so she might as well take what he gave her. Plus, it was just nice, and she wasn't going to refuse kindness. 

"Do you..." she trailed off, about to ask him if he wanted her mobile number in case he had to cancel or change times or anything, like she did with anyone else who invited her out somewhere. But she didn't know if that was crossing a line. Probably. Though, to be honest, they probably already were, she really didn't even know at this point. "Er, I mean, you have my email if you need to get in contact before then," was what she said instead, mentally hitting herself for the lame recovery. 

Sherlock pulled out his mobile from his pocket and waved it at her. "Or I can just text you. Every student's number is on their file and mine is already on your syllabus. More convenient than email and I prefer to text. That is if you don't mind," Sherlock said without the self consciousness he was suddenly feeling. 

He had essentially just asked a student out to dinner with him. Any idiot would immediately assume he was trying to seduce Joanna when that honestly was not the case. That was not a line he was willing to cross to not only make his favorite student uncomfortable, possibly even enough to drop his class. Not to mention lose his job and potentially go back to... he dared not even think it. 

"Not at all," Joanna responded a little too quickly, relieved he'd found a more more nonchalant way of bringing up than she had been able to. It still felt like an excuse, but... it was an excuse that worked. "Just um, text me where you want to meet up later. I'll see you then," she told him, giving him a nervous smile as she departed. She knew it was stupid, but she already had that weird, nervous feeling that usually accompanied a date.

************

"Where did you say you were going?" Joanna turned around to give her roommate a disapproving stare, still in her undergarments while she decided what she was going to wear as her hair dried. "Just out," she responded, knowing suspicious vagueness beat her horrible lying skills as the better option. "It's not that big of a deal." 

"Then why have you been standing in front of your mirror for the last ten minutes, holding up every shirt you own that isn't a jumper that doesn't fit you right?" her roommate prodded. "And is that eyeliner?" 

"Shut up," Joanna muttered, feeling increasingly stupid. What did it matter what she wore, it wasn't like she was trying to impress him or anything. And she certainly didn't want it to _look_ like she was trying to impress him, and he'd definitely pick up on it if she were. She picked a shirt at random (light blue blouse, simple and something she'd wear when she wanted to look nice on a casual day) and fitting jeans. The text sitting on her phone had a number listed above, meaning it wasn't saved in her contacts. She didn't plan on it, either. It would look weird to have 'Professor Holmes' in there.

"Alright, see you in a bit," she called, grabbing her bag and phone and exiting the dorm. She was not nervous, she was not trying to impress, and this was nothing more than a nice professor treating a student for their hard work. Right. 

Sherlock glanced down at his watch for the third time, stupidly impatient. Joanna wasn't even late, he was just an idiot. He should have cancelled dinner. Made up some excuse why he couldn't make it but offer for her to eat on his account anyways. She should be celebrating with friends or even a boyfriend, a thought that made Sherlock sneer in disgust. 

He didn't even know by he was getting so worked up. He had even changed clothes! Though he wore a suit everyday, he changed from the plain white button up to a deep mahogany silk shirt that was tighter than he normally wore. It was covered by his long coat and striped blue scarf at the moment but Angelo kept his restaurant warm so Sherlock would have to remove the coat. 

And he was nervous. Him! Over a student! One that could cost him everything if he was stupid enough to acknowledge the attraction between them. And it wasn't like Joanna was some staggering beauty. A woman that turned heads everywhere she went. Not like Irene had been, The Woman. The biggest mistake of his life.

No, Joanna was different. She was clever in her own right without being conniving. She was beautiful in an ordinary way when she was in fact very extraordinary. She was the exact opposite of the type of person he would be expected to pair with and that only made her more alluring. 

Dangerous and stupid and... Far too attractive in the blue shirt she was wearing as she rushed up to him. Oh he was in such trouble.

Joanna grinned when she saw him, waving as she approached. Part of her had honestly been a bit nervous he would come to his senses and cancel like she probably should have done but hadn't been able to bring herself to. "Hello," she greeted happily, her mind all the while telling her _don't look nervous because he'll notice and think it's weird but don't look too happy either and make eye contact but don't stare and why are you even caring this is bad bad bad._

It was interesting to see him outside the campus, as it made him a lot more human. Well, sort of. The lighting of the street made his pale skin stand in stark contrast to the darkening sky, and his thick curls were no less endearing... er, interesting, as the first time she'd seen him and she had daydreamed about if they'd met in a different place. Of course, then he opened his mouth and any illusions that she would be appealing to him went out the window. Though, she conceded, now they were standing outside a restaurant with a table for two waiting.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long," she continued, not letting any sort of awkward silence exist between them even for a moment. Although, one nice thing about Professor Holmes was she'd never found any silence around him particularly awkward. It was easy that way. 

Sherlock smiled politely then waved her inside. "You're perfectly on time. You are very anal about punctuality, aren't you?" He teased, forcing himself to relax. It was one thing that he had found endearing about her. There had been times when she had reached the classroom before he did. Once he had teased that he should just give her a key to the lecture hall and set things up in the morning so he could sleep in an extra fifteen minutes. He had honestly been tempted.

Once inside, Sherlock didn't wait to be seated but instead lead Joanna straight past the front podium to the table in the back by the window, his reserved seat. Angelo only gave it away when he was terribly busy and there were hardly any other customers just yet. Angelo's was a traditional, old styled restaurant. Quiet and private and not popular with the young uni crowd. Which perfectly suited Sherlock just fine. 

"As you can tell, I'm a bit of a regular," he said with a shrugging short of smile as he removed his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. 

Joanna quirked one amused eyebrow at him as she sat down, though the teasing statement she'd been about to give shorted out in her brain when he took off his jacket. Any demands in her mind of keeping him in a purely platonic light died a quick, sudden death, and were then smothered for good measure when she noticed the top button was undone, revealing a sliver of his chest. Well, that just wasn't fair.

Quickly averting her eyes from him before her mind went totally out of control, she asked in a light tone, "So should I ask what sort of favor a Bio professor could do for an Italian restaurant owner that warrants a permanently reserved table and free food?" 

Sherlock woefully noticed the way Joanna's shirt pulled in all the right places, for once actually accentuating her form and giving him no doubt now as to her measurements... He quickly picked up his menu to give him something else to look at instead of her or the startling fact that she was wearing makeup tastefully or the way that damnable shirt fit her all too well, including making her eyes stand out perfectly. 

"Oh, it was nothing, really," he said just before he heard the thundering stride of the restaurant owner. 

"Ah, Sherlock! I have been hoping to see you soon, and with such a lovely date!" Sherlock swiftly lowered his menu in the attention of correcting Angelo, for that was certainly not a date, until he found himself forced into a headlock of an embrace. 

"This man. This brilliant man saved my restaurant and my hide! Saved me from a murder persecution, he did," Angelo beamed, giving Sherlock a hard pat on the back that slightly winded him. 

"That was because I proved you were elsewhere, committing robbery," Sherlock said, though with some strain. Angelo tipped his head back and laughed. 

"Yes, yes, but the charges were dropped and no jail time for me, thus my family business was safe. You young lady are very lucky, very lucky. I shall bring some wine and let you look over the menu. Choose anything you like. Oh and a candle. Very romantic." Sherlock almost slapped himself when Angelo winked at Joanna before he ambled off to fetch the wine and candle and likely more means of embarrassing Sherlock. 

Joanna laughed a bit when she caught the look on Professor Holmes' face, trying unsuccessfully to cover her mouth with her hand. It was decently embarrassing for her too, but the fact that they were sharing said embarrassment made it funny rather than awkward. 

"He seems nice," she noted, wondering if they really looked like they were out on a date. Probably, a man and a woman out for dinner, it was the typical assumption she supposed. And the professor couldn't have been more than a decade older than her; she'd heard of worse age gaps. The thought perhaps made Joanna secretly fond of Angelo. So long as no one happened to see them that knew them, though she doubted she'd find many students frequenting a place like this.

"So, you're a professor by day, a violin player on the side, and a... private detective by night?" she asked, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward, intrigued. Professor Holmes seemed like a constant mystery she would never learn the extent of, but oh if she wouldn't like to try. 

Sherlock just barely repressed the urge to scowl. It was part of his past that he hadn't wanted to bring up since the memories were still rather bittersweet. But he signed since there was no hiding from the mistakes of his use. 

"Consulting detective. And I used to be. Before I became a professor five years ago, I used my powers of deduction to help people out of tricky messes. Often times I found myself even at Scotland Yard, helping the police when they were out of their depth, which was often," he smirked. He still held Lestrade in high regards, it was simply everyone else and their involvement in his downfall that he still secretly wished to burn. 

In the end though, it had been his own stupidity for his misplaced trust in Irene who had ultimately lead to his humiliation and the loss of his self made career and almost his life. The only reason why he wasn't in jail, for false accusations no less, was because of Mycroft. Sherlock still loathed the fact that he owed his brother at all, but it was either jail or teach so Sherlock had eagerly grabbed at his only option. But he was still bitter about it.

Joanna looked at him for a moment, childish emotions forgotten in favor of a more serious contemplation. Though he was very good at keeping a blank expression, his tone neutral, in a way that was what gave him away to her. Because he usually only sounded like that during a lesson, when he was playing a part. The Professor she saw when she got him talking about music or smiling at her was very different from the Professor that was telling her this, and from that she gathered there was more to it, and also that she shouldn't ask.

"Well, lucky for me you changed professions," she said with a smile, before it tightened a little in sudden nervousness. "Er, us, I mean. Students," she corrected quickly, looking down at her menu. Angelo chose that moment to come back with their wine and yes, even that bloody candle, taking their orders. Joanna once again found herself liking the man for ignorantly covering up a possibly embarrassing moment. 

"Yes," Sherlock said simply before they were interrupted, but his tone for once lacked in bitterness or regret. While some days he still fell into a black mood for his luck, lately he had found himself actually enjoying the profession. It wasn't so horrible, being a professor, not when some students, alright a few students, fine, yes, Joanna, made it enjoyable. 

"Excellent choices," Angelo cooed at them after Sherlock ordered the fettuccine alfredo. "Hopefully you will remember to leave room for dessert. We have very excellent chocolate moose! Perfect for a date!" 

Sherlock covered his scowl by taking a sip of the house wine, a full bodied red that held a hint of oak and apple. He would allow Angelo to carry on with his ridiculous notions so as long as he kept the wine coming. 

"Just ignore him. You know how Italians are."

"Right," Joanna responded absently, because of course it wasn't a date. She knew that. Her hand hesitated for a second before she finally took her glass and had a small sip. The taste was good, but she still didn't intend on having much more than that. She knew it was silly, but while Harry was in rehab, she just felt like it would be wrong to indulge herself, even if it wasn't enough to have any effect.

She didn't know what else to say then, and thinking of Harry made her sad suddenly in a way she didn't want to be. Just slightly, but there nonetheless. To combat it, she asked Professor Holmes, "So, why science? You seem like you could teach anything you wanted, music or philosophy, or anything. What about it appealed to you enough to teach?" It was yet another thing she was curious to learn about him. 

"If you feel like this is turning into an interrogation, feel free to wave me off," she added with a little smile, though honestly she did fear she would start bothering him with all the prodding. 

"It's fine," Sherlock said, smiling slightly at her self consciousness. It was actually a subject he did not mind at all. He took another sip of his wine, letting the flavours roll over his tongue for a moment. It was very good wine but after noticing Joanna's hesitance to drink, no doubt due to her brother? (He wasn't entirely clear on that) he wasn't likely to have any more. 

"Those positions were open and I am more than qualified, yes, but science is much more interesting. Of course, I had to fight to teach my own labs, but you can agree that I am much more interesting than some wet behind the ears assistant who would likely blow something up in their faces. Not to mention, access to volatile chemicals. Who can pass that up?” He asked with a cheeky smile that he belatedly realised might have been flirtatious. He blamed it on the stupid candle. 

Joanna laughed, once again totally blindsided by that smile of his. She was lucky, really, that he was not just a professional but also totally out of her league, because if he had invited her out for less light reasons... well, she probably would have been in trouble. It wasn't long after that when a waiter, not Angelo as the place was starting to get a little busier (not much, and no one Jo recognized thankfully) handed them their plates, and Joanna happily took a bite of ravioli, and found she would be happy to take plenty more.

"Kudos on helping someone with impeccable cooking abilities. Remind me to get a chef to owe me a favor," she joked once she swallowed. "I've gotten so sick of dining hall food I could scream." In fact, living on campus as a junior was more than a little annoying, but saving up for med school as she was, she didn't have much other choice. She was doomed to a life of debts as it was, having her own kitchen just wasn't worth it.

Sherlock tipped his head in acknowledgment. He too had access to the dining hall but he never ate there, when he remembered to eat, because he had standards. "Well, with the way Angelo has been carrying on, he will likely extend his favour to you as well. Just don't break the poor man's heart by telling him the truth," Sherlock jested in between bites of the fettuccini. 

He was pleased to see that Joanna was enjoying herself and the food. They had managed to not let an awkward situation ruin their meal or mood and her easy acceptance of things was refreshing. Any other student, especially another women, would have blushed and stammered and made idiots of themselves before the candle was even put down. But not Joanna. Provided that he didn't make a complete fool of himself, he would likely invite her back just to give her the opportunity to eat quality food once in a while. 

"But let's move on. I have been dying to confirm a suspicion. The reason why you're reluctant to touch your drink, alcoholic brother, yes? The one who is in rehab?"

Joanna's expression flickered for just a moment, just shy of a flinch, and her gaze dropped to her plate for a moment before she looked back up at him. "Yeah," she confirmed with a tired sigh, caught in between her feelings on the subject and once again getting swept up in Professor Holmes' brilliance. "Harry is his name. My mum died two years ago, and he never really recovered. Got tired of everyone telling him it would take time to heal and thought booze might speed up the process a bit. He won't let me help him, so I... sort of try in spirit, I guess," she explained, motioning a bit to her relatively untouched drink. Two years ago was when everything had gone to hell, her first year away from home, and it hadn't gotten much better the year after that. This year was her attempt at a fresh start, as fresh as it could be, anyway. 

Sherlock only found a small victory in being right, now aware of tension that his inappropriate question had cause. He picked up his own glass to swirl the dark liquid around but he didn't drink. It clashed with his meal anyways. 

"Denying yourself a simple pleasure like a glass of fine wine is hardly going to help him, but who am I to judge?" With a one shouldered shrug, he put his glass down and instead sipped from the glass of water that the waiter had brought with their meals. 

"But really, Joanna, you should not let other people's addictions dictate your own actions. You are your own person and you are much better than him, obviously. Look at where you are now." Sherlock really had no idea what he was saying, people and pep talks were not his forte. But he did know first hand about the destruction of addiction and it was his attempt at salvaging the conversation.

Joanna tilted her head slightly as she looked at him, trying to decide if that was his way of trying to cheer her up or not. She did notice the way he sat his glass down without drinking from it, though. And that was sweet. "I know it's silly, but it makes me feel better," she said with a shrug rather than tell Sherlock that Harry had graduated from law school and had the potential to be very successful once he got out of this slump. "Sometimes you just have to do things that feel right, even if they don't make sense," she added before going back to her meal, because it was something she really believed. And to be honest, if she didn't she probably wouldn't have been there at all. 

Sherlock hummed noncommittally, having enough tact to not comment. He had gone by that philosophy once and by it his life had been destroyed. It wasn't all that bad, he supposed, but he still missed his old life from time to time. 

Instead of drawing out the conversation, he focused on his food and concentrated on little more than the Fettuccini Alfredo or Angelo, when the man popped in to check on them when he wasn't busy. Mostly it was to push for the dessert until Sherlock finally snapped. 

"Yes, fine," he relented with a fond but exasperated eye roll. "Honestly, this better be the best dessert for all your hounding!" Angelo perked up like a bloody puppy and whirled away to go fetch the chocolate confection. Sherlock poked at his half eaten meal, full. 

"I hope that you are in the mood for dessert, I cannot eat another bite," he complained to Joanna.

Joanna raised an eyebrow at him, looking from the plate back to him attempting to discern if he was just being dramatic or if he honestly meant that. She decided it was both. "Professor, how are you still alive?" she teased with an amused grin. She pretended that she didn't mind the way the title settled on her tongue now, forcing a reminder on her that she could almost pretend wasn't there when they were off-campus like this. Even just to address him meant to put themselves into roles she wished, at least right then, didn't exist. "If that's how you always eat, I'm going to start bringing snacks to your office hours so I don't worry you'll fall over in the middle of class one day," she laughed, before taking another bite of her near-finished pasta pointedly.

Sherlock scoffed at her mother henning, though he wasn't actually annoyed. Well, no more than usual when people nagged at him about his eating habits. "I haven't collapsed yet," he pointed out, pushing his plate away. Angelo swooped in right then like some fat Italian avenging angel, swiping Sherlock's plate for the alarmingly large slice of dessert. Just one plate but two forks. As Sherlock had feared. 

"Enjoy your dessert," Angelo hummed before twirling away. Sherlock contemplated his decision over taking Joanna to the restaurant when maybe next time he should just order them take away. Not that he was planning for there to be a next time. 

"Also, if I am going about calling you Joanna, then please, call me Sherlock," he said as he lifted his fork, sliced off the tip of the cake and slid the rich dessert over his mouth pointedly looking at Joanna as he did to make her shut up about his eating habits.

Joanna laughed at him when he looked at her while he took a bite of the cake, the action so full of sass it reminded her of a teenager attempting to rebel. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so much in one night. Her smile softened from something amused to something warmer after a moment though, and she actually cast her gaze down for a moment as if smiling privately to herself. 

"Sherlock then," she agreed as she looked back over at him, taking the other fork and pretending it was perfectly normal to share a dessert with a teacher as she took a bite herself. She was sort of glad he didn't have an appetite after she did. It was fabulous, and she attributed the sugar to the warm feeling in her chest rather than that he had told her to call him by his name.

Sherlock pushed the plate closer to Joanna, simply content to let her finish off the sugary dessert and saving him from it. He didn't mind sweets, actually had a bit of a sweet tooth rather, but one bite was enough for him. Not to mention he like having the opportunity to watch Joanna, the pleasure from eating the cake evident on her smooth, young face. 

He saw no point in denying that she was attractive, especially in the soft, warm glow of the restaurant. Moreso even than when she was sat in his office, her expressive face hardened with concentration. No, he most certainly liked her like this, happy, relaxed, laughing more than he had ever heard from her in one day even if it was at his expense. All the more reason for him to never invite her to dinner again. 

"Why Joanna, you look as if you have never had dessert in your life. I should drag you out more often. I know the food is bad at the school, but I must not have realised just how bad," he still heard himself saying. That was why he didn't eat. A full stomach obviously made him do stupid things.

Joanna appeared a bit sheepish, thinking if anyone else had said that to her she would have thought they were subtly telling her she ate too much (to which she would reply: I work out, leave me alone). She knew though that Sherlock had no subtlety at all, except perhaps that he was suggesting they should do this again. Which she knew was probably a really, really bad idea considering she already was completely attracted to him no matter how much she tried to tell herself differently. 

"I wouldn't say no if you did," she responded, looking at him to meet his gaze for a moment, wondering to herself just how much implication he saw in it. She wasn't sure if that look was supposed to just be a confirmation or a recognition, but it only lasted for a beat before she broke it by taking a final bite of the cake and set the fork down. 

"If I don't show up for class on Monday, it's because I've fallen into a diabetic coma from which I cannot be awoken," she told him jokingly, pushing the conversation in an easier, less destructive (for her heart) direction.

Chuckling, Sherlock signaled to Angelo that they were leaving. Luckily the Italian was too busy to come see them out in a way Sherlock would want to consider as harassment. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he said as he gathered his coat and scarf from the back of his chair and slipped them back on. "I apologise if I am cutting this short, but I still have other exams to grade and if I want a Saturday to myself, I best finish them tonight. I will at least walk with you back to campus if you want." 

His tone was completely casual though also sincere. It was an excuse, but he did actually have exams to grade. It would also be poor manners to let her walk home alone, and despite what some people thought, he did actually have manners.

Though Joanna wouldn't mind a few more minutes with him, the 'independent female who does not need to inconvenience others with something so silly' part of her brain activated, and she waved him off. "Nah, I'm alright. You've treated me enough for one day I think. Thanks though," she declined. She really didn't need an escort and pretending she did just to talk to him more was a low even she wouldn't sink to. 

"I'll see you on Monday then. Thanks for taking me out, it was nice. Goodnight Sherlock," she said as way to depart, and they felt like the lamest, tamest, safest words of goodbye she had ever used in her life except for the name she tacked on at the end. She supposed though, she'd have to save anything more interesting (and far less realistic) for when she didn't feel like paying attention in maths. She turned on her heels to leave, wondering how she was ever going to get through the weekend without her roommate finding out she was interested in someone unattainable. It was probably written all over her face.

Sherlock stood at the table for a minute too long, unable to decide if he was disappointed or not. In the end he tightened his scarf around his neck and smiled. He had suspected that Joanna was not the type to be protected and she certainly proved that. Any other woman would have let him play the gentlemen for the sake of his pride, but not Joanna. He admired that. 

"Has she left already? Did the date not go well?" Unfortunately, Angelo had caught up to him before he could leave. Sherlock almost laughed at the expression on Angelo's face, like the idea of Sherlock being left at the table on a date was heart breaking. 

"It wasn't a date, Angelo. She is one of my students. Nothing more," Sherlock said and bypassed the Italian for the door. 

"But you like her. I know that look. She..."

"Goodnight, Angelo." Sherlock exited before Angelo could finish that sentence. He couldn't possibly have been about to say anything good. 

He stepped out into the cold, crisp air and simply stared up into the dark sky, the stars obscured by clouds. He had almost made a fool of himself that night, not to mention how many lines he had crossed. His well constructed walls were starting to crumble and fall and he wasn't sure if it was too late or not. One would think that he had learned his lesson already. Sherlock sighed, exhaling a plume of white mist, then went on his way. He had all weekend to reconstruct his walls.


	3. Shattering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: past abusive relationship

As seemed to be the way of life, after something really good happened, bad things had to follow. Joanna had harbored a small hope that Sherlock would text her during the weekend, but he never did. She expected that, so she wasn't too disappointed, but still. And on the next class day when she'd come into the classroom and they were the only ones there she'd arrived so early, he didn't say anything to her but good morning. Which was fine, made sense. She called him Professor here, after all.

But then Sherlock did something he'd never done before: he canceled his office hours. He had a reason, of course, staff meeting, and she understood. She didn't take it personally (really). Even though it was the week right after they'd gone out. Joanna didn't think about all the things she might have done wrong. She didn't.

He canceled the next week on a Wednesday, though Joanna didn't know why he even bothered considering their conversations had grown so small while she was there. Not that she thought he did it because of her, because she didn't. He didn't seem to treat her any different on the outside, he still occasionally showed her smiles and listened when she wanted to tell him things, but it didn't quite feel the same.

And it was this she was thinking about as she walked back from dinner alone at the dining hall, again. She hadn't realised how much she'd enjoyed having someone interesting to talk to (yes she had), and now it seemed she might lose it all together. Could she go back to just walking into his classroom and not seeing Sherlock instead of Professor Holmes? It made her terribly sad to consider, and she didn’t even know precisely what it was she had done to warrant it. 

So lost was she in her thoughts, she didn't notice the person coming out of the doors to the building right as she tried to walk in them, resulting in awkward pull/push moment that ended with Joanna nearly getting hit in the face with the door. And then she looked up and realised who was on the other side. She actually stopped breathing for a moment.

"I didn't know you'd switched buildings," was the first thing Sebastian said to her, giving her a smirk as if she were just one of those girls he’d liked to flirt with while he held her hand. It should have felt like forever ago, but when she saw his face, it didn’t.

"Fuck you," was her quick, noncommittal response, and he laughed. She refused to look up at his face.

"Still having anger issues I see. Hey, maybe I'll drop by sometime and we can work out that aggression, yeah? For old time's sake? You can't seriously still be mad at me Jo." 

She shut her eyes so she wouldn't try and bash his head into the wall as she responded simply, "Don't call me that." Luckily, he wasn’t in the mood to play, and he didn’t waste much time before turning to leave when he realized she wasn’t going to bite. It was a quick encounter, really. Shouldn’t have bothered her at all.

Joanna waited until she was sure he was gone before she turned away from her dorm, walking in the opposite direction he'd gone. She was walking, and walking, and then suddenly she was running, past the library and the office building and the university's sign, running until she was far from campus and she couldn't breathe and the sun was fully set and she didn't know if she felt sick because she needed to stop or because she just did. But she didn't want to wander the streets all night, but she didn't want to go back either. And she needed someone. But she only had one someone anymore, and even he was a long shot. 

In the end, she still pulled out her phone.

[I'm sorry, I'm really sorry to bother you now, but I need someone to come get me and I can't go back to campus and I didn't know who else to ask. I don't have anyone else. -JW]

Sherlock had told himself that distancing himself from his emotions and Joanna was the right thing to do. The smart thing. She was a distraction, one he could not afford. He couldn't slip up, not twice in his life, so he nipped the attraction on the bud and vowed to view Joanna as a student and nothing more. 

And it was working. He was regaining his composure, leaving the path of folly behind. Slowly but surely, Joanna was becoming no more than another student. And it left him feeling empty. 

He didn't know when it had happened, but they had become friends and he found himself missing that. The professional air he forced between them was stale and lacking the ease they used to have. Everything was simply off and he didn't know what to do about it. He shouldn’t care. It was one woman and he had enough proof how disastrous getting attached to anyone could prove. Yet...

He automatically snatched his phone off the desk where he was working on his computer when it pinged a text. He felt a jolt shoot through his spine when he saw that it was from Joanna, then he read the message. He was immediately on his feet, rushing through his flat for his coat and scarf as he texted back in a hurricane of motion. 

[Where are you? I'll come immediately - SH]

The wave of relief that hit her when she received his text nearly made her lose all power in her legs, and she slumped against the nearest brick wall as she forced herself to breathe. 

[Corner of Blake and Meadow. Thank you. -JW] 

She realised that she was clutching her phone too tightly to her chest a moment later, and forced her grip to relax. Her shoulder was throbbing painfully and she couldn't tell if it was from the way she was leaning or from the running or if it was in her head. _Sherlock's coming to get me._ She wasn't sure why that provided the comfort it did.

Sherlock immediately caught a cab, all but yelling the address to the driver. On the drive there, he could not sit still, tapping his hands on his knees or his feet and telling the driver to hurry up if he wanted to be paid a tip at all. It wasn't even a very long drive but it felt like an eternity until the cab was finally pulling up at the corner with Joanna's slumped form in view. With the way she was pressed against the wall, she looked injured. It was just as he feared.

"Don't leave!" Sherlock barked at the driver then jumped out of the cab. The wind bit at his face as he rushed to her, sharp eyes looking for obvious signs of injury. 

"Are you alright, Joanna? What happened? Are you alright?"

Joanna, for the second time now, wanted to hug the man as he rushed up to her, looking so concerned and caring she actually felt guilty. And stupid. "You asked that twice," she mumbled with a small smile, looking slightly pale as she stood up straighter, though she still felt like she was going to fall over any minute. 

"I'm okay. I mean, I'm not hurt or anything. I'm-" A loud banging sound suddenly went off behind the building and Joanna nearly jumped out of her skin, her hand automatically shooting out to grip Sherlock's arm tightly while at the same time turning to the sound so her eyes could frantically scan the street. She realised about a second later it was the sound of someone closing a metal door and she wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

"Hell, sorry," she said, releasing him from her grasp. "I'll tell you what happened, just... somewhere that's not here? Please?" she asked, looking at him a little desperately. 

Sherlock's eyes widened at the sudden blast of sound, but not because he was startled. Joanna's reaction worried him, especially when she grabbed for him. His mind immediately supplied the reasons for such a reaction, PTSD running in the forefront. Causes for such conditions were never good. He was almost sorry when she let go. 

"Somewhere else, yes," he agreed, grabbing her by the elbow gently. He obviously needed to get her away to somewhere safe, not thinking about or caring about propriety. All that mattered was her safety and discovering what they hell happened. 

"Come on then, my flat is not too far." He pulled her toward the cab and bundled her inside then climbed in after. The cabbie raised a brow at them to which Sherlock glared. The cabbie quickly turned back to the steering wheel. Sherlock reminded him what his address was and they set off once more. He hadn't let go of her arm yet. 

Joanna couldn't say she minded the steady presence of Sherlock's hand on her arm, and she made no move to pull away from him. Her stomach was full of nervous jitters, but it wasn't because she feared Sebastian had followed her or anything. She knew better than that. She'd just... she hadn't told anyone yet about him. Not really. It wasn't because she was hiding it, exactly. If he'd done any worse she would have filed charges, would have contacted the police. But it just hadn't been worth it. And who did she have to tell, anyway? 

Her mum had already been dead a year by then. Harry was already a goner, and the moment she'd said she had to quit the football team the girls stopped talking to her, except for a few here and there, but she wasn't close enough with them anyway. No one had needed to know. And so the result was she'd never said a word. And now she had to figure out how to tell him without him saying she was traumatized, or that he was going to call the police, or that she had issues and he didn't want the distraction. Normally, she didn't have issues. She was fine 99% of the time. Of course, she just had to decide to show him that embarrassing, pathetic 1%. She stayed silent the entire cab ride, looking at her lap or her hands. At least she could breathe again, she supposed.

Sherlock was less forceful than he had been earlier when it came to getting Joanna out of the cab and up to his flat, almost forgetting to pay. Again. Once inside his modest flat, he immediately got the fireplace going then jumped over a pile of books to get to the kitchen. 

"Pardon the mess," he said instinctively. The truth was, his flat was a mess. There were books and paper everywhere. Strewn on the table, his desk, the coffee table. Books had spilled over onto his couch and there were sheets of music all over the spare chair. He managed to clear the chair at least on his way to the kitchen, adding the music to the mess on the table. It wasn't like he used the table for eating anyways. 

Luck was on his side when he found a clean cup which he quickly filled with tap water then handed it to Joanna. It was something that Lestrade had often done for him after a startling case (not that he ever needed it) and Joanna looked like she could use a drink. 

Joanna swept her gaze over the flat, thinking it would be rather nice if it didn't look like a tropical storm had gone through it. If his desk was anything to go by though, she couldn't say she'd pictured much differently. She moved over to the chair he'd cleared for her, sitting down as she looked at the fire. He was back a moment later with a glass of water, and Joanna smiled a bit, taking a sip. She hadn't realised how dry her throat had actually been, and she had a lot of talking to do.

"Now tell me what happened."

"It's a bit of a long story," she warned him with a frown, then took a deep breath, staring at the glass rather than looking at him. It was easier that way. "I didn't... I didn't injure my shoulder playing football," she began slowly. "Last year I... well, I was a bit of a lost soul. And I met this guy at the university's gym. He was attractive in that rugged, maybe-there's-more-than-meets-the-eye-to-you sort of way. And he wasn't intimidated that I could throw him across a room if I wanted to, hell he liked it, and that was... exciting to me, I guess. So I let myself get totally swept up. And we did all kinds of things together. He took me to a range and showed me how to fire a gun and then kissed me when I was only two points away from matching his best score. So I ignored when he said... not good things to me. And I forgave him when he got angry over stupid things, and I told myself no matter how many times he threw things or punched walls that he would never do that to me. I wanted to believe he was good so badly.

"And then one day we were fighting. I don't even remember what about anymore. But I tried to leave, and he grabbed my wrist, so I punched him in the jaw, which was stupid but I was angry. Only he’s almost double my weight and he knows how to take a punch so it didn't make him stop, it just pissed him off. He had a... hunting knife that he kept on him, for protection he always said. He was just going to threaten me with it I think, but I didn't just sort of shrink back like I think he expected me to. There was some struggling and I ended up with the thing sticking out my shoulder. It was at his friend's flat, we were just there for the weekend, and so he booked. I put my coat on and left right after and no one even noticed. I never told the police, so he still goes to school. Today I ran into him, as I was heading for my dorm."

She paused then, thinking that was probably the longest she'd ever talked in her life, but she realised she wasn't done yet. "And normally I'm fine. I really, really am. I've seen him before, it's not like this has never happened. I just normally am a little more prepared. And I didn't tell anyone until now because I don't want anyone to look at me like I'm broken, or weak, or damaged. Because I'm not. I'm not traumatized, and I don't want anyone's pity. And I didn't tell you because I want yours either. Okay?" She knew she sounded defensive, but that was only because she was afraid he'd suddenly stop seeing Joanna and start seeing a victim and she couldn't, absolutely couldn't stand that.

Sherlock was no stranger to crimes of passion. He had many cases that dealt with abusive men and jilted lovers. Joanna's story wasn't even the worse he had heard. Not by a long shot. But when she spoke of getting stabbed, he found himself at the edge of his sofa, silently seething with his hands balled into fists. As irrational as it was, he was filled with the hot desire to demand the name of her attacker and exact just revenge. It was not a healthy path of thinking. 

"I don't pity you though I would very much like to know why you didn't prosecute!" He was up on his feet to expend the restless energy. "I assure you Joanna that there would have been enough evidence to send that monster to jail, where he belongs! You were stabbed. This isn't a matter of being battered around or slapped, he stabbed you. And I suspect that you tended to the wound yourself instead of going to a hospital?" he asked with clear disapproval, looming over her as he ranted. 

Joanna looked away guiltily, shifting with discomfort in her chair at the way he stood over her. She couldn't tell exactly if he was angry at her or for her, although both were slightly confusing. "If I went to the hospital they would have had to report it, it was just easier," she muttered weakly, the excuse sounding stupid even to her own ears. 

"I told you, I wasn't exactly in a good place when all this was happening. Harry was drinking himself into a hole, my mum had been dead a year and I was starting to stress about if I'd have enough money to stay in school. I couldn't afford the time a trial would have taken. He didn't do it on purpose, and I hit him first, if we're getting technical. I thought it might not do well in court. It wasn't worth people finding out. It was easier to just... pretend nothing happened. That I fell down some stairs at a party after drinking too much and that's why I couldn't play anymore." That had probably been the hardest part, lying in a way that put herself down to cover up his mistake. Losing the only thing she had going for her anymore. 

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" she asked him, finally looking up at him again. 

Sighing, Sherlock lowered himself into a crouch so that they were at eye level. He gripped the arm rest of her chair for balance, inadvertently bracketing her in the chair as well. He wanted to be angry at her for her foolishness but he was not one who could judge her. They were oddly similar in that, trying to cover up other people's mistakes because there was no other real option and having it blown up in their faces. 

"No, of course not," he said wearily. "It's been too long to gather a proper case and your actions in between then and now would be suspicious. But trust me when I say that I know from experience you can never truly run from such a mistake. What worries me is that he is not only still out there but that he lives near you. Your actions alone means that he has power over you, Joanna. That is not a disadvantage that you want."

"This won't happen again," Joanna retorted immediately in a hard voice, but her expression only remained as stoic for about a second before it seemed to dissolve into an almost childish pout. It was hard to be angry with the accusation that she had a weak spot when he was so close to her like that. "I was just... a little emotionally vulnerable today and I really never expected to see him coming out of my own bloody hall. And he likes trying to mess with my head on occasion but I don't think he'd actually ever try anything. I'm safe. I overreacted today." 

She leaned forward slightly, just slightly but suddenly the conversation seemed confined to their little space between her and him, closed off by his arms and the back of the chair. "Thank you. For caring. The way you've been acting lately, I thought... I wasn't sure you'd come. I'm glad you did," she told him quietly.

Sherlock internally winced but his expression remained neutral. So she had noticed then, as he knew she would. He wished he could explain his actions to her in a way she would understand, but that involved him having to be honest about his attraction and he did not see that going well. For one, she was in a vulnerable state after encountering an ex from a violent relationship and he didn't like embarrassing himself. How did one explain to their student their attraction in a way that would not make things even more awkward? He honestly didn't know. 

"I too have been dealing with a difficult time of late. If you feel that I am taking it out on you, I am sorry," he said, finally pulling back. They were too close, too intimate, and it was becoming an impossible battle of emotions and urges that he did not want to lose against. He felt protective over Joanna, one could even say possessive. He wanted nothing more than to claim her and make sure that such an incident never happened to her again and that was not a road he could afford to go on. So he pulled away before he could do something reckless. 

"But no matter the mood you think I am in, no matter how I am acting Joanna, you are one of my students, one of which I hold in high respect," he said softly, sitting on his heels on the floor before her. "So no matter what, if you ever need me again I will be there. If not, I better have a good excuse." 

Something flickered in Joanna's expression that she quickly smoothed over the best she could. Student. Right. No matter how he coated the word in kind phrases, she felt the line drawn so clearly it almost felt like a wall she'd smacked into face first. She didn't know if he'd be so kind to any student, probably not. So she was a special student, which was better than nothing but... still, in the end that's all she was. She leaned back, getting the hint. 

"Thank you," she said again quietly, not looking right at him. But then she paused, pursing her lips, and brought her gaze back. "If you need anyone to talk to about anything... well, I wouldn't ask for help and not be willing to give it, even from my professor. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask," she returned, because she knew she was being selfish. He'd just saved her and listened to her and then said he was having problems and her first thought had been _disappointment_. That wasn't okay; that wasn't her. Even if she had no idea what sort of help she could ever offer him, she was willing to try. 

Sherlock closed himself off and rose to his feet. No, that would not be a good idea. Though logically he knew that if Joanna learned the truth about him, if she ever discovered his _humiliation_ that she would not ridicule him like others had done when he first began teaching. Even so, he would never have the courage to tell her and risk pity, or worse, disgust. Not from Joanna. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he said without infliction, hearing the lie in his own words. Knowing that this was the point he often drove a severe rift between people, he turned away to clean the sofa. "You can stay here tonight or you will allow me to escort you back to your room. But seeing how late it is, it might be best that you sleep here and wake early to take a cab back. I can lend you clothing to sleep in and money for a cab if that is the problem, so really, you don't have very many excuses to say no." 

He did not see it as a danger to have her in his home over night. Anything incriminating was in his room, which he doubted she would even try to enter, let alone the fact that he wouldn't let her. He planned on disappearing into his room anyways, he could finish his work there. If he is able to concentrate, that is. 

Joanna was suddenly caught between laughing at his bluntness or throttling him in frustration. If calling her a student one moment and then _offering to let her sleep in his clothes on his couch_ the next wasn't a prime example of 'mixed signals', then she didn't know what was. No matter how kind he was, you didn't just... let students who were just students sleep in your flat! Right? She suddenly wished she had someone, a girl friend, to talk to about all this. But of course even if she did it wasn't like she could tell them anything unless she wanted to risk Sherlock his job.

"Guess I won't say no then," she responded in the end with a little amused smile. In truth, she didn't mind not going back for the night. And she knew she should have just said she could sleep in her own clothes just fine but... she didn't. 

Sherlock nodded curtly with a pile of books and papers in his arms, glad that she wasn't fighting him on it. It was the logical choice and he knew he was right in not letting her go home that night. Never mind that she had a roommate, but from his understanding the rowdy, adventurous roommate would hardly be a good choice in making Joanna feel safe. He also didn't think of how she might have someone else she could stay with until he was putting books away on the shelf by the kitchen. She had called for him after all so that meant she didn't have anyone else. Therefore, it was his duty to protect her. 

He realized though as he handed her a pair of soft knitted sleep trousers and the matching button up top, light blue in colour, that he might not have thought his plan through. The shirt would be big on her and the trousers long but also tight. He didn't need to see her in his clothes to know what she was going to look like in them and the image was... disconcerting. Really, what was it about Joanna that made him not think things through!

"Right. So, there you are. I shall go fetch a clean duvet. I should have something to spare, I am sure," he said, feeling stupidly awkward all of a sudden. It was like it had just hit him, that Joanna would be sleeping in his clothes, on his sofa, just a meter away from his bedroom. He swallowed roughly and accepted the fact that he would likely not be sleeping that night. "The bathroom is just over there. I'm afraid I do not have a spare toothbrush but I am sure that you can manage." He pointed to the bathroom then all but fled to his room for a spare pillow and blanket. 

Joanna stared after him for a second, wondering if that departure gave him whiplash, before retreating into the bathroom to change. The sleeves to the night shirt were so long on her she only saw her fingertips when she put her arms down and fell to almost covering her bum entirely, but it wasn't quite as baggy around her chest area, which she should have felt self-conscious about but didn't. It wasn't like he would be looking, considering he obviously didn't see her that way at all. She slipped on the trousers next, glad to find they fit in the waist okay and she wouldn't have to worry about them falling down on her. Although she might trip over the pool of fabric hiding her feet on the floor if she wasn't careful. 

She exited the loo with her jeans and shirt under her arm, wondering if the fact that she was drowning in fabric would make him see her as even younger than he already apparently did. It wasn't her fault he was rather tall and she was rather short. She left her clothes by the door so she could grab them quickly in the morning. 

Sherlock emerged from his room with a clean duvet, though unfortunately the pillow came straight from his bed. It didn't appear to be dirty or anything so he opted to give it to her anyways. It happened to be his luck however that he walked out when she was bent over, placing her clothing down by the door. It gave him the perfect view of her bum, framed too nicely in the tight bottoms, and woefully a glimpse of the outlines of her panties. He swallowed roughly and spun quickly on his heel to face the sofa. 

"I assume that you have eaten. If not, feel free to rummage my cupboards. Do not touch anything with a green label and I think it would be best if you avoid the fridge entirely. Actually, here." He dropped his armload onto the sofa and fished out his wallet for his debit card. "Just call something in if you're hungry. You can use my card. Though chances are you won't find a local place around here that doesn't have it on record.” 

Unfortunately, offering her his card meant he had to turn around to see her fully upright and yes, his mental image had been correct. But imagining and seeing where two entirely different things so he was not prepared for the way his body reacted by the sight of her in his clothing. It was a strange mix of arousal and horror at said arousal that filled him, making him feel the blood drain from his face, but unfortunately only to travel downwards. Luckily he was still wearing his coat. Which hid certain things. Thank God.

Joanna noticed a slight change in his face when he looked at her, but it just made her wonder if rather than childish she just looked downright bad. They were pyjamas, for crying out loud, he wasn't allowed to judge her in pyjamas! 

She waved off the card, looking slightly embarrassed as she fidgeted with the fabric hanging from the overly large sleeves. "Thanks, but I'm already stealing your couch and complaining about my life to you, I don't really want to spend your money too," she told him with a shrug. She knew he was just being generous, and she appreciated that, but she didn't like being fussed over that way. She didn't know what to do with it and it usually just left her feeling guilty.

"I'll just try getting some sleep. If I get up early enough I can get a decent breakfast when I go back," she added. She imagined she would, considering it wasn't even 10pm yet by her estimation, but that wasn't a bad thing. The quicker she was out of there the quicker she could stop sinking further and further into an affection (attraction) she feared would honestly cause her pain if she wasn't careful. If she could sleep on his couch after telling him something so personal and he didn't even look like he was considering doing anything that wasn't remotely platonic, she figured her chances were pretty much nonexistent. 

Right. Sherlock quickly shoved his card back into his wallet and tossed the damn thing into his chair. "Then I will leave you to sleep," he said, glad to have the excuse to retreat to his bedroom. God he wanted a smoke so badly but he had ran out yesterday and completely forgot to grab another pack. Looked like he would be resorting to an abundant amount of nicotine patches that night. 

He strode into his kitchen where he had last seen the box for the patches, and ah ha, right in the middle of the table. He then attempted to walk calmly to the bedroom with his patches. 

"Just knock on my door if you need anything. I'll leave you to turn off the lights." He closed the door, just shy of slamming it, then nearly collapsed against it. He leaned heavily against the thick wood, his head turned up towards the ceiling though his eyes were closed. All of his tightly reined in control had shattered, leaving him feeling shaky, a little sick, and woefully aroused. He did not need this again. He did not need to fall into bed with another woman who would ruin him. And Joanna would ruin him, not in the same fashion that Irene had and not deliberately, but she still would. 

If he believed in fates and gods and all that nonsense, he would wonder if he was being punished for his misspent youth and his many mistakes. It was simply fact that his life was not meant to be shared with anyone or it would just lead to folly. And damn Irene for awakening his libido! If only he didn't have one still he wouldn't be so bloody conflicted in the first place. He let out a heavy breath, scowled at his erection, though it was finally starting to wane, treacherous anatomy, then carried his patches to his bed. He settled in for a long night. 

Joanna watched him go, still standing awkwardly in the same place until he shut the door, and then she sighed, moving to turn off the lights (though not before noticing the skull he kept on his mantle, hello there) before she fell onto the couch, pulling the duvet around herself until she was a nice little cocoon. And then, when she was sure he wasn't coming back, she curled up in a ball and buried her face in the crook of her elbow, breathing in the smell of him. She smelled cigarette smoke and chemicals, the sort of scents that no matter how many times you washed something they would never quite come out. She'd never seen him light a cigarette before. And she let herself, for one minute, admit her chest was too tight to pretend she was unaffected.

Joanna fell asleep like that, which unfortunately, made her extremely sore getting up the next morning. She arose with the sun, moving quietly as she imagined Sherlock was still sleeping. She changed quickly back into her own clothes, folding Sherlock's and leaving them on the couch. She took money from his wallet to hail a cab, sent him a thank you text, and then she was gone.

A week later she got asked out by a senior in her Anatomy class. She said yes.


	4. Losing Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Sherlock had managed a few hours of sleep that night, despite his best efforts, but he was awake when he heard Joanna walk out of his flat. When he received her text, he laid on the bed longer than he probably should have, with his mobile laying on his chest and his eyes sightless staring up at the ceiling. He still needed to find a way to distance himself from her. He could no longer use the excuse of being overly distracted by life and responsibilities. 

He was likely going about it the wrong way at any rate. He shouldn't try avoiding Joanna, he just needed to stop being such a fool. No more inviting her to dinners, or his flat, or anything that would be deemed inappropriate. He would continue giving her access to a quiet study space and treat her as he had before, with familiarity and respect. He would get over his silly fancy soon enough. Even if the attraction was seemingly mutual, she would move on eventually. 

The only problem was... was that Joanna did exactly that. She started dating. At first Sherlock took the news of her new boyfriend with aloof aplomb. He gave nothing away, not letting it affect him. But it had, considering that when he got home he ended up throwing a text book into the fire. He had retrieved it mostly unscathed though. That was something. 

The following office hours he was relieved to discover that she had dumped him after learning that he was dating another woman behind her back. But by the end of the week he saw that she was going to go on another date, of which he heard about the following Monday. That relationship lasted a week until Sherlock, gleefully, discovered from her bag that her new boyfriend was stealing from her. Sherlock's victory only lasted until she found another idiot to jump into bed with. Well, not quite. The fact that she hadn't slept with any of them yet was Sherlock's only saving grace.

A month since his 'rescue,' he was positively sure that he would go mad and snap if he had to hear about another insipid idiot that dared think they had the right to touch her. Why couldn't she see that she was dating such cretins? None of them respected her like she deserved, the last idiot had even flinched when he saw her shoulder, (Sherlock, admittedly, thought too often about the scar that he knew would knot her tanned skin) which had also made her put her jumper right back on (thank God). Though she didn't explain all of that quite so detailed, he just knew. 

Only now he found himself dreading office hours because he had actually managed to salvage a friendly relationship with Joanna, which was also a huge mistake as it meant she apparently deemed him a good substitute for a 'girl friend' and he got the pleasure in suffering through all of her dating woes. Now it was Monday again and he knew she had a date with another arsehole (the fourth) that weekend and he honestly may kill himself if he learned it actually went well this time. 

 

Joanna wondered if it was her desperation that was making her attract such awful blokes, or if that was just her lot in life. She didn't understand, really. She wasn't stupid, she could take care of herself, she was a decent person and she wasn't even hideously unattractive, so why did everyone who showed any interest in her end up as either a kleptomaniac or a liar? 

She'd been trying, so hard, to stop her wholly inappropriate feelings for Sherlock, she really had. She tried to pretend she was thinking of Dave's smile when she daydreamed, though really no one's did to her what Sherlock's did, and that she didn't wonder to herself if he kissed her would he taste like smoke or toothpaste or tea. She didn't think to herself, when coming back from the shower and catching herself in her dorm room mirror, that he would never mind her scar.

She'd been all prepared to tell Sherlock about her last date, and how his bloody ex-girlfriend had literally shown up in the middle of it and accused Joanna of dressing in very authentic drag. But as she was heading to his building, she ran into none other than Sam Sawyer, another boy from, ironically enough, her biology class. And by the time she got to Sherlock’s office almost ten minutes late, she was in a far better mood.

"Good morning," she greeted with a smile, taking her usual seat and not even bothering to take out her books yet. Instead she leaned her elbows on his desk as if she'd come into a friend's dorm and made herself at home. "You'll never guess what just happened. Well, you will if I give you a minute, but let me tell you anyway. Date over the weekend was a bust, the guy had a totally crazy ex-girlfriend who apparently he hadn't quite gotten around to breaking up with yet. I was actually considering just giving up on the whole dating thing for good, and then I ran into Sam Sawyer on the way here. He's in your class, same section as me. And he was so sweet and asked if I wanted to eat lunch with him after your class so I said yes and he gave me his number. 5 is a lucky number in some culture, right?" 

She leaned back into her chair then, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Maybe he'll actually like me. It has to happen eventually," she sighed. A 'get-over-someone' plan didn't exactly work if literally every guy she went out with proved to her why the other one was so amazing. 

"How was your weekend?" she asked him, turning to look at him again.

Sherlock was still on the fence about offing himself, but snapping was definitely an option. He had already smoked half a pack that morning, the only substance besides tea that he had consumed at all in the last twenty four hours. Needless to say, he was on the verge of the shakes, the nicotine and caffeine leaving him shaky and left him even more aggravated. And then the top it all off, Joanna walked into his office smiling over another boy, a painfully dull one at that!

The worst thing was that he knew enough about Sawyer to know that things would actually go well between him and Joanna. He was respectable, not an entire idiot, and would know how to treat her right. But he was so dull! 

This had to end. His sanity couldn't take much more of this. Week after week hearing about her dating catastrophes that appeared to have no end. He simply had to put a stop to things before he killed someone. 

At her question his resolve snapped. He rose from his chair and slammed his hands onto his desk hard enough to jar him to the bone. "This has got to end!" He had his head bowed, hair fallen like a curtain as his back heaved with a hard inhale. As he blew out his breath he lifted his head to stare at Joanna through his fringe, eyes dark. 

His next actions came from a deeply repressed state that broke. He stalked around his desk, eyes locked on Joanna, his movements akin to a predator. "I will not stand to hear about one more idiot touching you when the only one who should be is me." He would attest to his dying day that he had indeed lost his mind when he grabbed her by the arms to pull her to her feet and kiss her hard on the lips. When he released her, he still held onto her shoulders but in a hold that she could easily break to punch him. Which he fully expected and knew he would deserve. 

Joanna had been startled when Sherlock abruptly slammed his hands on the desk, wondering what on earth his problem was until he spoke, and then she wondered if telling him about her life had gotten annoying and he had finally snapped. And then he stalked over to her chair and she was pretty sure that yes, yes he had indeed snapped. His words stopped her breathing and she wasn't sure she'd heard him entirely right, but she still was holding her breath by the time he hauled her to her feet and crushed his lips to hers, making her head swim. If her heart hadn't been beating so furiously, she would have thought she was dreaming the whole thing. Again.

When he pulled away from her, Joanna's eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed. She seemed frozen with shock, and maybe she was. She knew she should... she should ask what he meant. She should demand to know why he kissed her like that when he had so clearly been trying to keep her away, when she had been trying so hard to get over him and all of it was washed away in a second. Until she realised that she'd been so shocked she hadn't even had a proper moment to recognize what his lips felt like. After that not a single one of her questions mattered.

Joanna did break his grip, but it was only to tangle her fists in the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him back to her, mouth pressed to his because she might never get this chance ever again and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to take it. 

Sherlock held steady when she pulled back, likely to ready a punch, but she went and completely surprised him. The first kiss had been more of a warning shot. The second was a full on charge to battle. At first it was his turn to be immobile with shock, eyes widening and brain taking a woeful second to catch up. But catch up he did, snaking his arms around her waist to pull her in close. It was a brutal kiss, hard and the angle could be better and her arms were in the way of him getting as close to her body as he needed. 

Growling in frustration, he broke the kiss to move her arms so that with a tug he had her fully pressed against his body. He shuddered sweetly at the delicious feel of her: pert breasts against his chest, her warmth bleeding through the silk of his shirt and wool of his trousers, the way her dark blue eyes turned nearly black with desire for him. 

He held her gaze for only a moment before cupping her cheek in a gentle but firm hold and tipping her head so when their lips met a third time, they slotted together in a perfect fit. He kissed her fiercely, parting her soft lips with his tongue and claiming the territory of her mouth for his own. It was deep and demanding, the kiss alone enough to make the hot fires of lust burn in his veins. If there was any word to describe their third kiss, it was 'war.'

Joanna was amazed at the way she fit in his arms, just the feel of that warmth around her waist and pressed against her chest enough to make her want to melt. She kissed him back with a passion unprecedented in her before now, a burning need that wasted no time in totally consuming her. She tangled her fingers through his black curls and pulled, as if it were possible to draw them even closer together, and though she tried to burn the memory of him in her head (tasted of cigarettes and tea, lips soft but not pliant, making her retaliate in order to keep up with every moment, hair just like it looked), her higher brain functions were quickly dissolving into nothing. Her last really coherent thought, in fact, was _thank god that door locks when it's closed._

She started to back up, pulling him along with her until she felt the cold sensation of the wall against her back, right next to the bookshelf and one of the only places available to lean against. She coaxed him closer, grazing her teeth against his bottom lip as she pressed herself against him. The feel of the early signs of his arousal through his trousers was enough to make her moan quietly, the sound swallowed by his mouth. It was so, so much better than every fantasy she'd ever had, and she was greedy for all of him, or at least as much as she could get.

While having Joanna against the wall was very appealing, it still meant the he had to bend down to kiss her and arch uncomfortably to get her against him and he was far too greedy for that to satisfy him. He wanted to feel all of her, to have all of her, preferably without getting a kink in his neck or back. 

Without any warning, (though judging by her hands in his hair and the way she bit at his lips he surmised she would not mind his plan) he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up along the wall. 

"Wrap your legs around me," he growled into her mouth, teeth clacking as he spoke. He punctuated his words with a harsh bite to her bottom lip. When she complied he pushed her right against the wall and rocked his hips, pressing his burgeoning erection against her groin. He could feel the heat of her body, the blood in her thighs, even through her jeans and his trousers. 

It was almost too much, wringing a strangled moan from his throat as he surged back to her mouth, kissing her wetly, desperately, his entire being yearning for her like she was a drug that he was literally dying to have in his veins. 

But it still wasn't enough, even as he ground against her while they ravaged each other's mouths. It wouldn't be enough until he had her naked, on his desk if they ever got that far, with her legs wrapped around his hips and his cock buried deep in the tight, wet heat of her sex. At least that was the plan.

The feeling of Sherlock pushing against her that way was maddening, so close and yet not nearly enough, still separated by layers of fabric that Joanna was beginning to despise. She was so wet she thought it might actually soak through to her jeans. She'd never had sex like this before in her life. She'd never been so desperate for someone to be inside her it felt like she would literally burn up if she didn't have him, right then, and she'd never been so thoroughly consumed by anyone. She didn't even know this sort of passion could exist.

She tried to roll her hips against him, but it still wasn't enough (God, would it ever be?) and so she yanked his shirt out from the confines of his trousers, getting her hands underneath to feel the smooth skin of his back. But the position wasn't good for the removal of clothing; she couldn't even unbutton his shirt like that, pushed so hard against the wall it was all she could do to move against his lips with hers. "Sherlock," she pleaded, a desperate whisper for him. She didn't know she could sound like that either.

Sherlock immediately took the hint. Pushing with one hand on the wall, he propelled them away from the wall then spun them in time to deposit her on top of his desk, scattering papers and ungraded exams and not giving a God damn. He was already addicted to the feel of her hands on his flesh and nothing would get in the way of him having that again. 

"Strip. Good God get out of your clothes now," he ordered, voice rough and impatient. His fingers were already flying over his buttons, just shy of ripping the bloody thing off. With the blue silk hanging off his shoulders, he quickly bent down to retrieve her book bag and dropped it heavily beside her. "And while you're at it, retrieve the condom. I know you carry one."

He then shrugged out of his shirt, letting the garment spill to the floor and didn't waste anytime reaching for his belt. All the while his eyes barely left hers, staring down at her with an intense hunger. He never wanted anyone so badly in his life than how he wanted Joanna. Not even Irene. 

Seeing such piercing eyes filled with that kind of want, for _her_ , made Joanna feel like all her nerve endings had been subject to an electric shock that never ebbed. She didn't know what to do first, but she wasted about .02 seconds conflicted before she went for her bag and wrestled the condom out of its hidden compartment, sitting it down on the small space between her thigh and the edge of the desk before she shoved her bag to the floor again. She immediately pulled her jumper off from the bottom up after, shedding it over her head and tossing it away. She knew in typical not-in-the-house sex it was easier to keep her bra on, but she wanted him to see her, touch her, know all of her. 

And so she unhooked that too, letting it slide off her arms. If someone had told her an hour ago she'd do something like this and lack any sense of self-consciousness she would have laughed, but in that moment there really was none. She was too busy thinking about him, about the revealed muscles she'd imagined in late hours when her roommate was out and no one had to know and god, he was beautiful and he wanted her and she _needed_ him. And they still hadn't stopped looking at each other for more than a moment, Joanna staring up at him with a flushed face and heaving chest as if she'd been in the desert for months and his existence was her water.

Clad in socks and pants still, Sherlock paused to help Joanna out of her clothing. Despite the urgency, he took his time peeling away her shoes, followed by her jeans in a slow glide so he could enjoy every inch of her lean, muscular legs as the were revealed. Her socks came next. He lifted each leg in turn, first rubbing his hands up her creamy legs to her knees then down all the way, pulling the sock off as he went. 

Sex, the mesh of bodies, used to hold no interest to him unless the bodies gave up clues to a crime. But Joanna's body commanded all of the focus he once reserved for crime scenes. He also didn't believe in taboos or such nonsense, seeing nothing to deter him from lifting each foot once bare to his lips to place a kiss to the sensitive arch. 

The air was crackling around them with heady anticipation when he settled her legs down and ran his hands up her legs, burning a trail along smooth skin until he reached the hem of her panties. He leaned in closer, their eyes meeting once more. His chest was heaving with heavy pants, a sheen of sweat covering his flushed body. There was a slight tremble in his hands as he played with the edge of her underwear, and his burgeoning cock was leaking with need at the tip, soaking into the dark blue silk of his boxers. Still, Sherlock did not go any further until he had full permission from Joanna.

Joanna was unused to such careful attention, especially when it still managed to be completely filled with frantic energy, none of the heat ebbing despite the slow way he slid his hands on her legs and pressed kisses to the arches of her feet as if she were something precious. Her breath caught when he allowed his hands to trail upwards, fingering the top of her underwear but looking at her for the cue. It was almost laughable. Couldn't he take one look at her and know?

"Sherlock," she breathed, reaching a hand to run along his arm to the top of his shoulder, feeling every dip in his skin and the hard lines of his wiry muscles. It left her fingertips feeling like they were sparking. "I've thought about this more times than I can count. Please," she told him. But rather than give him the moment he needed to slide her underwear off, she moved her hand from his shoulder to the side of his face to pull him closer for another kiss, this one deep and slow and she hoped conveyed just how much she wanted all of him and how much she wanted to give him her.

Sherlock melted in the slow, deep kiss, molding his body into hers. He relished the press of her breasts against his chest, undulating slowly to feel the drag of her pert nipples against his skin. His right hand abandoned the hem of her pants to slide up her body, letting the warmth of soft curves bleed through his skin, further up to palm one breast to commit the weight to memory. 

His hand lingered long enough to know the feel of a rosy bud between his fingers, how she reacted when he rolled her nipple before sliding his hand up further until he finally reached the knot of her scar. He wanted to break away to see it, study it and cover it with his lips, fingers, mark it as his own with his DNA and erase all former claim. Instead he abandoned the scar to grip the back of Joanna's head to keep her still because he was not quite done kissing her yet. 

Only when he thoroughly knew the contours of her mouth and the shape of her tongue against his own did he pull away to reach for the hem of his pants. He stared at her steadily as he pushed them down, kicking them off along with toeing his socks off. He stood for a moment under her gaze, letting her covet every inch of him. 

"You vex me. I yet understand completely what it is about you that drives me to madness, but you do. You're a distraction, one I shouldn't be able to afford," his words were blunt but soft and wholly honest. As he spoke he finally inched down her underwear, the reveal of her making him feel weak with want for her. "But an addiction I cannot give up. You." He finally slipped the garment off. "Are." He then leaned down again for the need to touch her. "Beautiful." He snatched up the condom as he claimed her lips once more and wasted no further time sheathing himself so that he could finally have her.

Joanna never thought she'd hear words like that from his voice, low and resounding, the voice that had wrapped itself around her in an unbreakable hold from the first time she'd heard it now calling her beautiful. His voice affected her just the way his touch did, like caresses to her mind. They were finally naked with each other, and Joanna wished suddenly they were in his flat so she could examine every inch of him, taste the sensitive skin of his shoulders and his neck and the angular lines of his hips. Have him for hours all to herself. And then she heard the sound of the condom wrapper as he tore it open and it was all she could do to keep breathing, having him follow her with his lips as she laid back against the desk, hair spilling out around her head. She spread her thighs for him, feeling wet and empty and needing.

They broke their kiss again to look at one another, Sherlock leaning over her with slightly damp curls around his face and a look that made her feel like every inch of her was his because he saw the parts no one else ever could. And when he finally, _finally_ took her, the explosion of all that built anticipation made her have to bite down on her own wrist so she wouldn't cry out loud enough for everyone in the building to hear her.

The sweet glide into Joanna's velvety heat was like producing dulcet notes on a violin. The electric tingle that coursed through his body ending in his extremities the same as when he listened to Bach or Mozart. He took a moment to savor the sensation of her around him, feeling the little tremors that ran through her body. 

And never had she been more beautiful to him than in that moment where they first came together. Hair spilled in a licentious halo, eyes glassy and lost, skin dotted with sweat and coloured lushly with arousal, teeth scoring into her wrist to muffle her sounds. Absolutely gorgeous. 

Sherlock gave her a moment more to collect herself, though at great cost to his own shattering composure. Then finally when their need rose like a demanding tide, he pulled back slowly then with a snap of his hips he drove himself back inside her, biting back his own sounds of abandon. He pulled back again, this time grabbing her hips to slide her down the desk a little more. Rocked back into her and sighing at the sweeter angle. Back as he lifted her left leg over his shoulder. Kissed the inside of her knee as he thrust back in and nearly lost his composure when the angle proved almost perfect. 

Almost, because he wasn't close enough. He adjusted her legs once more under his arms and leaned forward to brace himself on the desk. It forced him to rock on the to pips of his toes on the next thrust, and oh. "Joanna," Sherlock gasped a supplication, rolling his hips in a deep, sinuous rhythm. Perfection was reached.

Joanna moaned quietly with each thrust of his hips as he buried himself inside her. Once they found their angle and rhythm Joanna was quickly reduced to nothing but nerves and sensation, nothing in her world but Sherlock and the heat that was winding a coil tighter and tighter in the base of her spine. The way he gasped her name made her have to clamp down on her wrist again, her free hand gripping the edge of the desk for purchase as she trembled and moved beneath him. 

His expressions were amazing, raw and open in a way she'd never seen of him before, and his muscles rippled beneath his sweat-coated skin with every movement. The way he pushed into her hit the most sensitive spot inside her, causing a steady rhythm of stimulation that took her apart, until it was good she had to be silent or she would have been an incoherent mess. She already was completely helpless under him.

"Oh god," she breathed as he brought her to the edge of climax, like a wire pulled so tight one yank would make it snap. Her toes were curled and her knuckles were white she gripped the wood so hard, breathing in quicker, shallower bursts the closer she got. She could feel it pulsing as her orgasm rose, and one more thrust was all it took before she completely unraveled, whimpering Sherlock's name as she shook with the waves of pleasure that whited out all brain function at once.

Joanna's climax left Sherlock shattered. He had been brought close to the edge with each thrust, with the way she writhed and undulated beneath him, the sounds she made. But he was finally undone by the sound of his name, uttered as if torn from her in a helpless whimper. 

He had a moment to savor her own climax, tipping his head back on a breathless, 'oh,' that curved his spine and buried his cock as deep as possible. The build up was a hot tight coil, just about to snap. But then she pulsed around him in an after shock and his orgasm hit him like a bullet. 

He fell forward keening in the back of his throat as his hips jerked his release into the condom. He could feel the gnarled knot of her scar beneath his lips and the clean smell of her sweat as he came. In fact, all he was aware of was her. The noise in his mind was drowned out by the white noise of his brain completely shorting out. He was overwhelmed. 

Sex had never been like that before. Passionate and all consuming, yes, but intimate and pleasurable without the violence. Irene had been cruel in her passion. Always the manipulator, sex between them had been rough, all nails and teeth and dirty tricks. They didn't come together as lovers but as fighters. Sex for him had always been a competition. 

But with Joanna not once had he been driven to hurt her or best her. He had been tender even and she in return. When she had touched him it hadn't been to distract or rake her nails down his body until he bled. When Joanna spoke she had praised or begged him, not goad or mocked. Sex with her was more like a partnership and Sherlock honestly didn't know how to process that. It frightened him.

Joanna held onto Sherlock as he came, feeling him tense and shudder and the hitching of his breath ghosting against her shoulder. Later, she would consider the way he never tried to avoid her scar, like the few partners who had ever seen it always did, but at that moment she still wasn't capable of enough thought to contemplate anything beyond the sounds Sherlock made and the way he felt twitching with aftershocks inside her. 

It was only when the two of them were both thoroughly spent that he finally pulled out of her slowly, Joanna making a small noise due to over-sensitivity. She was still panting, sweaty and boneless, and though she knew every moment they spent in such a compromising situation put them in more danger, she couldn't even bring herself to lift her head. She'd never felt so... _satisfied_ after sex before, to the point that she felt floaty and warm and wonderfully exhausted. She wanted Sherlock to wrap her up in his arms and hold her to his chest, though realistically she knew a desk wasn't the best place for that. God, he'd _actually_ fucked her on his desk, to the point that she was pretty sure if she tried to stand at that moment, her legs would wobble and she'd just fall over. It hadn't even been particularly rough, just intense. Intense in a way she'd never experienced before. And she still wasn't sure what to do with any of these developments at all.

Sherlock internally cursed himself when his legs wobbled slightly when he stood. Sneering down at himself, he slowly peeled off the condom then tied the blasted thing, feeling particularly spiteful when he tossed it into the bin. Now that he had his brain in working order he was disgusted at himself for losing control, especially to such a base biological function that he used to ignore so easily. It had been a while admittedly, six years in fact since he last had sex, but he still cursed himself for any weakness and his libido was certainly a weakness. He just had sex with Joanna, his _student_ , risking everything he had built in the past five years. 

But when he turned around to see that she was still basking atop the large, sturdy desk, his anger fled. Despite himself he smirked, finding her lack of self consciousness at the moment admiring. It did give him an opportunity to enjoy the view, getting to observe her up close without the urgency of getting off. She was small and marred, muscular in many places and soft in some. Joanna was not a conventional beauty, not by many standards, but he was shocked to think how he wouldn't mind spending many more hours observing her. 

That was the thought that finally spurred him to dress. It wasn't like they had all day anyways. In fact, they only had fifteen minutes before the end of his office hours where both soon had obligations. "As lovely a paperweight you are, you might want to consider getting dressed soon. Don't you have class in ten minutes?" he asked as he found his handkerchief to give himself a quick wipe down before tossing it on Joanna's stomach. 

That snapped Joanna out of her post-coital haze. "Shit!" she cursed, springing up and wincing slightly as she realised the hard wood may not have actually been the best thing for her back. She used the cloth to wipe down her thighs, though really no matter what wearing still damp underwear for the next hour was going to be uncomfortable as hell, before finally sliding off the desk and standing. She didn't fall over, but her leg muscles protested. She found her bra first, hooking it back into place before she went to pick up the rest of her clothes, finally sliding on her socks with barely five minutes to spare. At least she hadn't gotten her books out beforehand.

She grabbed up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, still completely unsure how the hell she was supposed to act normally after that, but she hesitated before heading to the door. There were so many things they needed to talk about, things Joanna needed to understand, and part of her was so afraid if she left then she'd never be given a chance to find out. "We'll... talk later, right?" she asked Sherlock nervously.

Sherlock had been fully dressed and composed by the time Joanna had grabbed her bag. Panicking over something as stupid as sex would accomplish nothing, neither would feeling awkward about it. He was thirty years old for Christ's sake. Though having to actually talk about it, that was something he would rather avoid because it would be so tedious. But Joanna obviously wanted a discussion. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"If we must," he said. It was clearly not the answer she was looking for but it was best she soon understood that he wasn't very good at anything involving 'feelings.'

"Oh and Joanna," he called to stop her at the door, bending down to rummage through a drawer in his desk. He swiftly found his deodorant and tossed it to her. "You smell like you just had sex. Granted most people aren't observant enough to know it, but just in case." 

And because he was apparently a masochist, he crossed over to where she stood to run his fingers through her tousled hair in an attempt to make her not look so debauched.

The total 180 Sherlock took from calling her beautiful to rolling his eyes at her attempt to reassure herself was... not as easy to pretend it didn't hurt as Joanna would have liked it to have been. So, what, he just wanted to ignore it and pretend it never happened? Was that it? Because Joanna wasn't sure she could do that. She didn't _want_ to. Or, more likely, he didn't mind recognizing it had happened and just didn't see the point in discussing the implications. Which could possibly mean there were no implications.

Class was going to be a nightmare, Joanna thought as she quickly swiped her underarms with men's deodorant, which seriously was a bigger giveaway than the outright scent of sex if they were being honest here, and then he was crossing the room to run his fingers through her hair, which she knew was probably just to get the kinks out but the gentle act still made her chest tight. And also made her slightly angry.

"God, could you make sense for _once_?" she asked him with frustration, shoving the deodorant in his hands. He'd take her to his flat when she was upset, and then say she was a special student. He'd fuck her on his desk, and then act like having a conversation with her was the biggest burden in the world. It wasn't fair, and she was too damn vulnerable at that moment for this shit. "I'll see you," she told him in a hard voice, and then she turned and exited the office, almost glad she was frustrated. She'd take that over looking guilty or suspiciously nervous. 

Sherlock stared at the door with his head tilted in confusion for a second after she left. Her sudden burst of anger only served as a reminder why attempting at anything considered as nice was just a waste of energy. He shrugged, accepting that women were still not his area, then turned to gather what he needed for his bio 205 class. He remembered to use a body spray he found in his top drawer so at least they wouldn't be linked by deodorant.


	5. Reality, Or Not

For the most part Sherlock pushed the whole affair to the back of his mind. He had more important things to think about than an illicit tryst with a student. He continued on his day with his usual air of disdain and personal brand of sarcasm. It happened. He had no intention of it happening again. The best thing to do was to get over it. 

Of course, that was easier said than done. During his lunch break he had been forgoing eating to read a scientific journal at one of the staff lounges when something on his shoulder reflected light in his eyes. Upon further inspection he discovered a medium cut strand of golden tawny hair stuck to his shirt. Joanna's hair. He stared at the strand for a long time, twirling it between his fingers, before giving up any silly pretenses and pulling out his mobile. 

[I will be in my office at six this evening if you still want to have that talk. -SH]

Joanna didn't do as well in pushing it away. Rather, she spent most of her class letting the full impact of what she'd done (slept with a _teacher_ , who honestly did that outside of bad telly Dramas?) sink in, until she was blushing profusely and hoping no one noticed. She returned to her dorm the moment she was let out to shower and change out of the clothes that smelled like him even more than those bloody nightclothes. And while she was showering, it hit her again: she'd slept with a professor. And not just any professor, but Sherlock. It was literally a fantasy made real (well, in most of her fantasies neither of them had labels at all), and before she knew it she was laughing. It wasn't really an amused sort of laughter though, more like a cathartic cry except she giggled instead of sobbed until her ribs and cheeks hurt and her fingers had gone pruney. 

She never answered his text message, and she wasn't sure if it was out of spite or simply because there was no point in confirming. She wondered if he just wanted to prevent a possible disaster or if he genuinely cared about whatever she wanted to say. Which, she still didn't know. 'That can't happen again?' They both already knew that. 'I want it to anyway?' He would probably tell her he wasn't interested, and that it was too dangerous. 

She understood the consequences. If they were found out, he would lose his job and she would lose any chance of going to med school. Hell, she might even be expelled from uni altogether. And that was terrifying, but it also wasn't fair and she hated that a bunch of stuffy old men on a school board got to decide what was right and acceptable and what wasn't. She was an adult, for Christ's sake!

She went to the rest of her classes thinking what exactly she would say to Sherlock, had dinner being afraid of all his possible responses, and then promptly at 6 she showed up at his office. She still had no idea exactly what it was she wanted, but she was so nervous he'd deny the both of them of it anyway.

Sherlock stubbed out the cigarette on a clear patch of wood in the top drawer of his desk when he heard Joanna approach. It was highly frowned upon to smoke in one's office, meaning that it wasn't allowed, but he honestly didn't care. He had needed the smoke (sixth one since the 'incident') and it served to eliminate the smell of sex in his office. He then rose to answer the door. 

"We're going to have to make this short," he said by way of greeting then immediately returned to his chair. He had smoked enough in the past hour that despite the fan being on there was still a plume of smoke hovering over his desk. He ignored it and waved to her usual seat. If Joanna noticed such things, she would notice that his desk had been completely cleaned and organized. 

"Now, I have a few things I would like to say but I am willing to hear you out first. Go ahead and say your peace," he said, keeping all tones and movements professional despite how he couldn't make his mind stop replaying the feel of her skin against his. 

Joanna wrinkled her nose a bit at the overwhelming smell of smoke as she entered the office, but she had bigger things to worry about than that. He'd cleaned up alright; no evidence left that anything out of the ordinary had happened here. Which she wouldn't have minded, except... except the tone in which he spoke was so familiar she felt the distinct sensation of her heart plummeting into her stomach almost immediately. He was being 'Sherlock the Professor', and Joanna knew what that meant. He'd already shown her this song and dance before. Only now she wasn't even afforded the kindness of feigned ignorance. Now she knew just how she felt about him, undeniably, and if he were to pull away from her, she couldn't even pretend it didn't matter that much.

"I'm not giving a presentation in one of your classes, Sherlock," she told him with a serious expression, remaining standing as she was. "I'm not going to stand here and give you a five minute, bullet point speech on my feelings while you sit there barely even listening because you've already made up your mind. I want a _conversation_ with _Sherlock_ , not a back and forth performance with Professor Holmes. And I think I deserve that. You can't keep treating me like a student when it's convenient for you and like a person when you feel like it's okay. Haven't I... haven't _we_ proven we're more than that at this point?" Despite her attempt at remaining stoic, vulnerability was written all over her face.

Sherlock's mask slipped with uncertainty, startled by Joanna's words. He had been prepared to break it down in a precise, polite argument, informing her that what they did had been a mistake and why it would be folly to continue and it would be best to just forget the whole matter and continue on as they had been. But she made him realise that it was far too late for that.

He looked away, giving her a small nod. He should have known better than to think she would let him brush it aside like it, like she, meant nothing. It was disrespectful and cruel, but he honestly didn't know how to be kind. 

"You're right," he sighed, looking up at her once more. "You must know by now that I am not very good with people. Or relationships for that matter. It's not my area," he admitted ruefully. 

"I don't know the proper etiquette for this. I don't do... this!" He flapped his hand between them, fully losing his composure in front of her. But she confounded him like no one had before, made him feel things he had rather stayed locked up after his last cock up of a relationship, if that word even properly described what he had with Irene.

"Talking. Feelings. I don't..." He slumped in defeat, kicking his legs out and going limp. "But I do know," he said in a softer, resigned tone. "That neither of us can afford this risk. I want to see you succeed Joanna, I sincerely do, and I will continue to help you if you allow me to. But what happened earlier cannot happen again. For both our sakes."

Joanna resisted the urge to bite down on her bottom lip, determined to keep a steady expression of maturity. He wasn't saying he didn't want her. He practically admitted he had feelings for her. That was something. 

"Are you saying that because you mean it or because you 'don't do relationships'?" she asked him, finally coming over to the desk. Instead of just sitting down, however, she pulled her chair over so they were directly facing each other with no desk between them, knees just a few inches apart, and then took a seat. 

"Because... well, I don't think it's fair that a school rule book gets to decide what we feel and who we touch. And neither of us are stupid. No one would ever have to know; I don't have any friends to get suspicious of me anyways. We won't do anything on campus anymore. I won't even come during office hours if you want. We could meet at Angelo's and your flat, or somewhere else all together. We'd keep it secret."

She paused, eyes flickering down to her hands. "I know I'm asking for a lot. I know I'm being selfish, and probably foolish too. But... is it really that easy for you to just say 'it's not worth it?' I mean, if I'm not..." 

She pressed her lips together as she searched for the right words. "I don't just have sex with people on a whim, you know. If it's not with a person that matters to me. It wasn't just 'something that happened' for me. Or at least, I didn't want it to be. But if I got that wrong, then... well, then I guess this conversation is both moot and mildly embarrassing for me, isn't it?" 

She laughed a bit, her cheeks heating up as she looked down again to hide her eyes as much as possible under her fringe. She didn't normally do this kind of thing. If someone said they wanted out, she usually was even willing to open the door for them. But this... she couldn't. Not without even trying. 

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose while biting back a groan. Why did Joanna have to make it so difficult? Her feelings were inconvenient and unfortunate while he didn't even know what he felt about her. Attraction, most assuredly. Affection; possibly. But enough to risk losing all that he had rebuilt over the past five years? 

"Yes, because you failing your classes for the chemical rush provided by orgasm and sentimentality is so worth it! Please Joanna, you are not this naive. Can you honestly afford to lose the only place where you can study. I am not worth you screwing up your chances to get into med school," he said through grit teeth, leaning in closer, just refraining himself from grabbing her shoulders and shaking some sense into her. 

"Can you honestly say it will be worth it? You don't even know me! I am only what you want me to be. You know nothing about me."

"Yeah, but not because I don't want to!" Joanna shouted, her face flooding with colour. "You are so not what I want you to be, I can tell you that. You're arrogant and infuriating and oblivious and oh, yes, a professor, and trust me none of those are what I'd call an ideal. Bloody hell, I'm not some teenager with a pathetic infatuation latching on to the first bloke who gives me a pretty smile. I want to know more about you, that's the _point_. If we end it now I never will. Although, you're so damn secretive I'm not even sure I would if we didn't end it. You know so much about me and then you never..."

She sighed, slumping back into her chair a bit and running her fingers through her hair. She'd let her frustration get the better of her. Was she being naive? She'd thought coming here she was in the right, but maybe she was just so keen to go against convention for the sake of it that she wasn't thinking clearly. She was asking someone to risk losing their entire livelihood for her sake, after all. Risk her entire future on something she didn't even know would work out or not. He just made her feel right when she'd gone for so long feeling so out of place. And she'd been so hesitant to trust anyone since Sebastian...

Joanna sat up as the thought made her nearly sick, other thoughts quickly spiraling out of control once the first had taken hold. Oh god, was that what she was doing? Was she just... projecting a need onto Sherlock because she was attracted to him and she actually was damaged and he was there? She thought she was better than that, but suddenly her thoughts and feelings were swimming in doubt and it scared the hell out of her. 

"Am I being ridiculous?" she asked him with worry, like he could give her answers to her own head. "Do you really feel like I'm... idealizing?" She never thought herself the type, but suddenly she was shaken with a painful amount of self-doubt that made her irrationally angry with herself that she always let people in and it was always the wrong choice.

Sherlock clenched his hands around the armrest of his chair, suddenly conflicted. She was being completely ridiculous. While he did feel that she was being naive, she obviously managed to convince herself of a fallacy, judging from the sudden shift. The kind thing to do would be to assure her that she was wrong and to let herself prove her convictions, no matter how damning it would be. It was a staggering thing, the sudden realisation that he wanted her to know him. He could show her so much, give her so much. There could be no better than he for her. But... it would also be a kindness to convince her that she was only falling for an ideal. Then again, if she knew the truth about him... he would rather she walk away now then to let her under his skin well and truly, only for her to abandon him in disgust. 

"I do," he said softly, molding his tone to be sympathetic. "Is it because I have kept things from you that you don't know me or because you never asked? I have seen the questions in your eyes, but you never inquire and I have never given you any indication that you could not ask, have I? The start of our relationship was my helping you out of a hard spot. Then again when you ran into your ex. I have become your rescuer, but am I honestly more than that? You needed someone to save you, to be your knight in shining armour, but I am afraid that in reality, I do not fit that bill. Yes, I got carried away and I took advantage of those feelings. For that I owe you an apology."

Each sentence felt like a stab wound. A mortal wound, as he deliberately pushed her away. But he had to. He was already in too deep and later he would truly hate himself, but he was doing the right thing, and not just for himself. Joanna would ruin him, but he would ruin her in return and he could not do that to the only person he could call a friend in his life. No, this was the kindest path even though it was the harder one.

Joanna honestly felt like she couldn't breathe for a moment. She'd never asked him anything because the look on his face when she got anywhere near his past had made her think she shouldn't. But maybe... maybe part of that had just been she, on some subconscious level, hadn't wanted to know? That sounded wrong, so wrong, but if Sherlock honestly felt like that was how she'd been treating him, then she couldn't say it was invalid. Especially if it was trauma that was making her act this way, which would cloud her thoughts and judgement. 

She remembered the way Harry shouted and raved about not having a problem, being the only one who couldn't see it while everyone else was hurt by it, and she did not want to be that. Still, it hurt. Oh god it hurt. To think that so much of what she'd thought was feelings, what she thought was her maybe finally finding happiness all just equated back to Sebastian. Sherlock had said he still had power over her, and it made her want to throw up to think that he was right and this was how it was projecting. She was totally disgusted with herself.

"No, I..." Joanna trailed off, her expression lost and her voice weak. "I mean, it's okay. I'm sorry if I... put you into an uncomfortable situation. I didn't realize I was acting that way. Leaning on you. I didn't mean to." 

She grabbed for her bag and stood up, suddenly finding the smell in the air and the dimensions of the office absolutely suffocating. She had to get away. "I need to go. I won't bring it up again. I'm... I'm really sorry." She moved towards the door, trying to keep her thoughts from falling apart in her head completely. If she couldn't even trust her own feelings, what the hell could she trust anymore?

Sherlock forced himself to remain completely still and watch her fight within herself. He viciously fought the urge to jump to his feet, to stop her, to discredit everything he said and claim her for his own. But he did no such thing. 

"Joanna..." Sherlock closed his eyes with brief regret, though she could not see him. "Sawyer is a decent fellow. Boring, but decent. Don't cancel on him. I think..." Sherlock swallowed and forced himself to lie. "He would be best for you, if you need that sort of thing. At the very least there will be no pretense with him. It's a clean break and one you should take." 

Sherlock didn't know if she would heed him or not, but despite being hard working and clever in her own right, Joanna needed people. Not many, but a few, some connection. He didn't want her to belong to anyone like that who was not him, but to have her was to lose himself. Never again.

When she left, he remained completely still for a few minutes, simply breathing in the nauseating smell of cigarette smoke. When it all became too much though, he flung himself from his chair to slam his hands against the top of his desk. The impact jarred him to the bone but it was not enough. With a primal yell he wrecked havoc on everything within his reach, throwing books and and knocking his desk clear. The only thing he did not take his ire on was his violin. 

Joanna managed to keep it together until she made it back to her dorm room. Blessedly, her roommate was out. Lights still off, Joanna crawled under the covers of her bed, pulling them over her head and curling into a small ball. Maybe she was doomed to suffer unhealthy relationships until she died. Those were the only ones that ever seemed to do anything for her, to _excite_ her, she thought with disgust. Maybe Sebastian had screwed her up worse than she thought. Maybe Sherlock was a total arse for fucking her when he thought she was clinging to him for stability. Maybe maybe maybe...

Not knowing, or not even sure if she didn't know, her own head was a terrible feeling. Thinking she was weak for allowing herself to fall into that pathetic, clingy victim stereotype made her hateful. How was she supposed to heal if she didn't even know she wasn't already fine? She'd known when she was broken, and when she was miserable, and being with Sherlock had never made her feel any of those things. But was that just the dependence talking? What was even the difference between emotions and trauma? How did she know?

 _'I will not stand to hear about one more idiot touching you when the only one who should be is me.' 'You are beautiful.'_ The deep, resounding words Sherlock had growled, filled with desire and heat (or so she had thought) played back in her head, and Joanna couldn't stop the sob that wretched its way from her chest. When she was done crying, she picked up her mobile and looked at the directory taped to her dorm wall. With shaking hands, she dialed the counselling center and left a message to make an appointment. She could not allow herself such weakness anymore, no matter how much she loathed to reach out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a roleplay of a gender swap Uni AU with fem!John With Apocalyptic_tea playing Joanna and CinRose as Sherlock. There is some major canon divergence, naturally, but the universe is pretty much the same. Big difference is that Joanna is younger than Sherlock but not by too much. She's still more mature than him so that didn't really change.  
> We are our own Betas, so pardon or mistakes and we hope to have weekly updates.
> 
> http://www.iupui.edu/~british/grading.html


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